


Silence

by XO (WaxPonds)



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Library, Attempt at Humor, Blow Jobs, Crushes, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Librarian!Oliver, M/M, Rimming, Snowballing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaxPonds/pseuds/XO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Connor, it’s not a bad thing to have a crush, you know?”<br/>“I don’t get crushes. Fuck off.”</p><p>Connor doesn't get crushes, that's not his thing. However, everything changes when they hire a new librarian at the campus library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stalking was a harsh word. Stalking consisted of following someone home, getting as much information about the person as he possibly could, and doing something to hurt the individual in question.

Or, well, that’s what Connor told himself as he pushed open the large wooden doors into the library they had on campus for the seventh time in three days. He just had a lot of work to do. Annalise was giving them endless assignments to complete, and only the library had the right historical archives he needed.

The library was for focused study, away from the hustle and bustle of the university grounds. It was quiet and calm; peaceful. Connor was sure it was a place people would listen to Bach’s piano concerto in D minor (or something like that. Connor’s classical music knowledge started and abruptly ended at Bach) as they pondered the questions of the universe in their societies.

He hitched the strap to his backpack higher up his shoulder and walked towards his usual place. It was his favourite spot in the entire building. The large window shone bright sunlight directly down onto the tabletop, providing a handy light to read by. Hardly anyone came to that area; it was closer to the law files which were all stacked along a few bookshelves, and he knew no one cared for them enough to make the journey over there.

As many times as Connor told himself it was for the convenient lighting, he knew he was lying to himself. Because of where the table was situated, he could easily look (gaze) at the person working behind the desk. Ever since they had employed the new librarian, Connor’s attendance to the library had increased by five hundred percent, he was sure of it. At least all the time and effort he put in sitting in silence helped boost his grades – his endless staring wasn’t all for nothing.

Connor sat on one of the cushioned seats and rummaged through his bag, searching for the essay he had to do for the following Friday. _It has to be more than five pages long_ , Annalise had told the class as she wrote the question on the chalkboard at the front of the room. _It can be about anything you want: miscarriage of justice, petty theft, a murder. Anything. As long as it fully explains how you can defend your client and win the case._ He had already decided what he was going to do his report on before he left the lecture theatre – an old homicide case from the late 1980s which was still ongoing. It interested him more than anything, and the idea of a murderer roaming the streets flooded his veins with a strange concoction of fear and adrenaline.

The deadline was looming, and he had yet made any attempt to start it. Unlike the rest of his classmates, he couldn’t hunker down for the night, pen in hand and write out a passable essay. No, he had to spend hours staring at the blank sheet of A4 paper, argue with Laurel that he would start (eventually), and then quickly give up and go to bed the second his pen reached the paper.

He was pretty much fucked and he knew it.

He sighed to himself, running his fingers through his hair. The stacks of court cases – both old and new – looked more daunting than ever as he looked at them. He didn’t know where to start, but he hoped they were in some kind of order to make his life a bit easier. Chronologically ordered, maybe with the name of each case neatly written on a white label.

Connor pushed himself up from the chair to get a better look at the files. To his luck, they were ordered nicely – much more organised that he remembered them. He presumed that it was because of their new employee. He seemed like the kind of person who kept things tidy.

He walked along the aisle, peering at the dates written on each black file. He let out an annoyed huff as he realised he was in the mid-1370s section. What could have possibly happened then? Someone murdering another’s cow and then running off with the farmer’s wife? Connor didn’t want to know, nor did he care enough to flick through the information.

He paced up and down the shelves, trying to find the right date. The 1980s wasn’t too long ago, why was it so hard to find? If they had something from the fourteenth fucking century, then, logically, something from less than thirty years ago should have been there in its masses.

Time was slipping through his fingers, only making him more stressed than he needed to be. Before he could attempt the essay, he needed the facts! Annalise could sniff out fabricated information like a bloodhound. She showed it on their first ever assignment when she called Lydia to the front of the class and pointed out every wrong fact in her writing. Needless to say, no one did it again.

With his eyes fixed on the archives, he forgot to check if there was anything or anyone in front of him. That was until he walked straight into someone, making the other person stumble backwards, dropping their books in surprise.

“Fuck,” Connor swore, far too loudly for the library, gaining himself a few stern looks from the other people. “Sorry, I didn’t-“ His voice died in his throat, and he felt his mouth dry up when he looked from the shelved, seeing exactly who he had bumped in to.

“Hey, it’s fine,” the man whispered, smiling at him as he bent down to pick up the pile of books that Connor had knocked out of his arms due to his utter clumsiness. He stared at the back of the man’s head, still not sure what he had done in a past life to deserve such shit luck. He would have preferred to bump into Frank; at least they would have laughed it off over some drinks. Fuck, even the grumpy kid (who looked like he was planning a mass homicide) from the back of the class would have been better than this.

“Sorry. I didn’t- I’m sorry. I should help,” Connor whispered back. Smooth, tripping over every word, he thought to himself walked around to the books and papers scattered across the floor. He took extra attention in making his way around the other person, not wanting to make an even bigger fool of himself by tripping over his feet or shoelaces.

By the time he had made his way to the books, the librarian had already balanced them in his arm, pushing his glasses back up his nose with his free hand. Connor stood awkwardly in front of the man, allowing his eyes to travel up and down his body as subtly as possible – he didn’t want to look like a creep.

His eyes focused on a nametag on the man’s shirt.

“Oliver, trainee library assistant,” Connor quietly read aloud before he could stop himself. He felt his cheeks heat up as the man – Oliver – chuckled at his inability to keep his thoughts inside his head where they should have been kept. Forever.

Oliver nodded, placing his free hand on top of the books to stop them from falling. “New on the job,” he whispered. “Well, kind of. It’s been a few weeks now, but they’re very strict. Would you believe it? It’s a fu- uh, it’s a library.” He shook his head dramatically, making his glasses slide down his nose again. Connor felt his hand twitch; he wanted to push them up so badly. And maybe stroke his hair, too. His hair looked even softer close up.

Connor suddenly realised he hadn’t introduced himself. Feeling like an idiot, he managed to mutter out his name (successfully, may he add. He’d had nightmares of messing up his name and introducing himself as Walsh Connor, or something equally as idiotic).

Oliver looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could form any words, an elderly woman stood beside him. Her eyebrow was raised, not looking too pleased with Oliver. Connor just recognised her as one of the other librarians – one of the moody ones who wanted to legalise the slapping of children who misbehaved in school again. Oliver smiled at him sheepishly, shrugging his shoulder a little. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” he said, making sure only Connor could hear.

“Uh, yeah. Tomorrow.”

_Fuck._

_***_

“Connor, it’s not a bad thing to have a crush, you know?” Michaela’s voice came from the kitchen. She was already half way through making her dinner when Connor, for a lack of a better word, disturbed her quiet evening in. When he realised he wasn’t going to be kicked out, he had quickly made her old couch his home, placing a pillow behind his back and resting his feet against one of its arms.

Connor snorted. “I don’t get crushes. Fuck off.”

Michaela looked around the archway separating the two rooms, a wooden spoon in her hand. “I know. You just hook up with anything with a pulse.” She smirked before heading back into the kitchen.

“That’s not true!” Connor said, defending himself. “A pulse _and a cock_ , then you’re right.” He heard his friend laugh, and knew she was rolling her eyes at him. “It’s not my fault my dick thinks for me. Besides, it’s not like you’ve gotten anywhere with... what’s his name?”

“Caleb.”

“Yeah, whatever. Him. Are you still keeping it safe and vanilla?” Connor reached for another one of the pillows, holding it close to his chest. He looked up at the ceiling, wonder what else he could torment Michaela with. “I bet he’s kinky,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “Probably into all that hardcore shit: BDSM, bloodplay, choking.” Connor started to list off a number of different kinks he could think of until he heard the sound of plates being put onto a countertop.

“Shut up, Walsh. It’s not like you’ve done much with that librarian – a _librarian._ I thought it was a bit odd when you let that accountant blow you in the storeroom. _”_ Michaela walked into the living room, two plates of steaming pasta resting on her arm.

Connor laughed. He’d forgotten about the accountant. Harry? Henry? It didn’t matter. All he remembered was slumping to the floor, boneless after having a mind-blowing orgasm. “But this one’s cute,” Connor said with a shrug. He took the plate from his friend, putting it on his lap. “His name is Oliver and he’s only a trainee.”

“You _finally_ talked to him then? I thought you’d get the courage to do it weeks ago because you’ve been stalking to poor boy.” Michaela pushed his feet off the couch, making room for her to sit with him.

“I wasn’t-“

“We all know you _hate_ the library,” Michaela said, speaking over Connor. “Don’t you remember your rant about how shit they were? How they were a waste of space where they could be building clubs instead?”

“I didn’t...” Michaela raised an eyebrow at him, stopping his protest in its tracks. “Okay, but that was ages ago, right? What I said then doesn’t matter now. Forever living in the present and all that bullshit.”

“Sure,” she said, slowly eating. “Go on, tell me about it. Did you ruin the guy’s innocence in the stock room? Get on our knees in the library and-“

Connor choked on his pasta, coughing until his eyes started to water. He’d had endless fantasies of fucking Oliver into his mattress as he begged for more, or rimming him in the shower. The dirty thoughts plagued his dreams, making him wake up with sweat soaking into his sheets and being painfully hard.

“I kind of... bumped into him?” he said, not looking Michaela.

“Smooth, Walsh. Very smooth,” she laughed, patting his shoulder. “An unconventional way to knock him off his feet, I have to say.”

Connor dug his toes into her thigh, causing her to make a pained sound. He stuffed a few more forkfuls of food into his mouth, thinking about what he could tell his friend without it sounded as lame as it actually was.

“I was going to start the essay Laurel’s been telling me to do for days, so I wasn’t there _just_ for Oliver.” _It was the main reason_. “So, I was looking for that unsolved murder case from the 1980s.”

“The Debiak case?” Connor nodded. “You sure like making things difficult for yourself.”

“That shit’s interesting. There’s a murderer still out there. Right now. Probably plotting another kill. Can you believed what he did to that girl? Cut her up and cooked-“

“I know. I’m in the same class as you, idiot. Stop stalling the story. I don’t care about Debiak; I care about this Oliver guy.” She reached over and put the empty plates on the coffee table in front of them, focusing all her attention on Connor.

“I guess neither of us was expecting it, and he dropped all the books and papers he was carrying. I don’t know. It was embarrassing. Why am I telling you this?”

“Because when you get married, I can tell this story at your wedding,” Michaela said, grinning. “But that’s such high school rom-com cliché. Knocking textbooks out of your crush’s hands and then helping him pick them up.” Connor groaned, burying his head in a pillow. He knew he was blushing, an ugly red colour taking over his cheeks. “Did you make a move on him? You’ve been waiting long enough. I’m shocked that you didn’t shove your tongue down his throat the second you were close enough, or push him on the floor to dry hump his thigh like a horny teenager.”

“I have some self-respect,” Connor said into the pillow, refusing to show his face. He knew she was giving him a sceptical look, anyway. He could feel her eyes burning into the top of his head. “Anyway, I need to go back to finish the essay, otherwise Annalise will kill _me_ and cook _me.”_

“I didn’t hear you say no the marriage bit,” Michaela said in a sing-song voice. Connor groaned, again. “You say you’re going to do work, but you’re going to check out Oliver’s ass.” She poked Connor’s head gently. He looked up, resting his chin on the pillow.

He didn’t deny it. There wasn’t any point lying anymore.

The silence was broken up the sound of Michaela’s phone ringing in the distance. She sighed, getting up from the couch, and walked towards the phone. Connor sat up, watching her as she walked. He noticed her smiling when she read the message. Clearly he wasn’t going to be wanted around much longer.

“I should go,” he said, getting up from the seat.

“Why?” she asked, faking curiosity as she started to text the person back.

“I don’t want to wait around and listen to you and Caleb have kinky sex.” He stood up and made it way over to her. He threw his arms around her, pulling his friend into a tight hug.

“We aren’t- why are you hugging me?” she asked, giving Connor an odd look.

Connor took a step backwards, looking Michaela in the eye. “My friend is finally going to get laid,” he replied, sniffing loudly and feigning a sob. Michaela made a sound which was between a laugh and an irritated sigh. She pushed Connor back, putting space between them.

“Get out,” she said; trying not to laugh and she started to push him towards the door. Connor didn’t resist, allowing himself to be pushed out of the apartment.

“Hot. Kinky. Sex,” Connor shouted, making sure he was loud enough for other people to hear.

Michaela just slammed the door shut, but he heard her giggle behind it.

***

The second attempt at starting his goddamn essay was no better than the first. Ever since they’d introduced themselves, Oliver made an extra effort to stack books whenever Connor was sitting. It proved to be very distracting, as every time the other man walked by, Connor _had_ to watch him walk back. How could he not? The guy had an ass to _die_ for.

Whenever Oliver caught him looking at him (which was too often. Connor needed to get better at being discreet with these things), he smiled. His smile made Connor’s inside churn every time and blush profusely. The cycle repeated itself: watching, being caught, that fucking smile that made Connor die a little, embarrassment and then pretending to search for what he desperately needed.

It was Wednesday and that was his day free from classes. They called it ‘independent study time’, but everyone knew it was the time when students slept off a hangover and regretted the night before. Connor’s Wednesday mornings usually consisted of finding himself in a strange guy’s bed, wriggling out of the duvet, making sure he was will asleep before collecting his stuff and leaving the nameless man to wake up alone.

He had become unnervingly good at doing that. However, he hadn’t gotten laid since he stumbled into the library and saw Oliver working there. Since that day, he’d made the table in the corner of the room his. He’d bring work with him, but never attempting any of it. He could spend hours there, checking the other man out – it even reached the point of obsessive when Connor realised waking up at the crack of dawn to make his way over to the library no longer seemed like such a chore.

He was back at the archives, looking through the second aisle this time. He must have been there a while, aimlessly staring at the mound of files and boxes because he felt someone stand next to him. Before he looked to his right, he tried to guess who it was. He knew it wouldn’t be anyone he knew, they were all in bed at this time. It was probably some math geek or that old hag of a librarian. He desperately hoped it wasn’t her.

“What?” Connor whispered as he turned to face the person beside him.

“Hi.” _Shit._  Luckily, Oliver wasn’t put off by Connor’s snappy tone. “What are you looking for? You’ve been here for a while; I was wonder if I could help look.” He gave Connor a sweet smile, waiting for an answer.

“The Debiak case from the ‘80s,” he replied, making sure his voice was low enough to fit with the silence. The library was pretty much empty, there were only a handful of groups sat around tabled, heads in hands as they hunched over pieces of paper.

Oliver nodded and headed in the opposite direction of Connor. He stood there for a while, muttering something to himself as he read the labels. Soon enough, his eyes lit up and got a file down from one of the uppermost shelves. He came back, a triumphant smile on his face, and handed the black file to Connor. “I would help if you looked in the right place, you know?” he commented, still smiling.

Connor felt butterflies in his stomach. No, they were far worse. Connor felt swarms of rabid, angry butterflies hit his stomach, making him feel dizzy and slightly nauseous.

“Hey. Are you okay? You look faint.” He placed a hand on Connor’s arm, steadily him. The sudden touch did nothing to soothe him, but he forced a smile and nodded.

“Late night,” Connor lied. Oliver made an understanding sound, nodding a little. “I’ll be fine. I need to finish this essay, don’t want to be on Annalise’s hit list next.” He shook his head, clearing his mind and removing the feeling on Oliver’s hand on his arm. Or, that’s what he tried to do, at least. He walked back to the table, putting the file onto the surface and opened it up.

There were pages of scripts, evidence files and a whole pile of other shit that he’d have to sift through until he had enough information to fill out most of his assignment. Connor could already tell his week was going to be a sleepless one with even longer hours in the library. Although the library stayed open all night, the staff left at seven, meaning that he’d be alone for most of his time. It was bittersweet: he had no one to look at or to keep him company as he ploughed through the essay, but there was no one to distract him. He wasn’t sure which one he dreaded more.

Oliver was still standing close to him. He couldn’t make out the expression on the other man’s face, but he didn’t look happy. Concerned, perhaps? Connor didn’t know, but he didn’t like it. He liked to see the smile on his face that reached his eyes, making them shine.

“Look,” Oliver said, his voice lower than a whisper. “I’m, uh, I’m not meant to be doing this, but I could bring the case to you?”

There was a strict rule around the case files, especially unsolved or ongoing ones. They weren’t allowed out of the building, they were lucky that they were allowed the access they were given, anyway. In their first year, they had all been told that if they as much as one part of _any_ of the cases out of the library, they’d be kicked out. Instantly. No ifs, no buts – they would be sent packing the moment someone found out. They were all told the horror stories of someone being put in prison for nine years, but as the years went on, people quickly found out that was a lot of shit to scare the newbies into following the rules.

But the fear still stayed with them. He’d worked so hard to get into his dream college, and he wasn’t going to let someone ruin it for him, no matter how attractive they were.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll get us both in serious trouble if you do.”

“Who says someone will find out? If you don’t tell, I won’t tell. No one’s going to know, Connor,” Oliver said, trying to reassure him. “I’ll bring it to yours. What’s your address? It’ll be over later tonight.”

Connor didn’t argue. He didn’t see the point. It was obvious nothing was going to change Oliver’s mind at that point. He sighed, tearing off a bit of paper from his notepad. He scribbled down his address, as well as his phone number (hey, he had to take a chance when it was given to him), and handed it over to Oliver.

“Great,” he whispered, folding the paper in half and putting it in the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll be over at six.”

Oliver started to walk back towards the desk, giving Connor a small, almost shy, wave as he went.

All Connor could do was stare, dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure what he agreed to be part of, but he hoped that he could trust the man he’d only been talking to for less than forty-eight hours. If not, the consequences would be disastrous for the both of them. Connor was positive that Oliver would lose his job, and probably serve some time in prison – they were put in great power when it came to caring for the cases; the power couldn’t be abused.

And for himself, he’d be expelled and sent back to live with his parents, the shame of disappointing them heavy on his shoulders. He didn’t want to go back, not ever since he moved away from them. When he was hundreds of miles from the pressure that his mother put on him to be the perfect A-grade student anyone would dream of having, he _finally_ felt like he could breathe again. There wasn’t any judgmental looks from his father when he said he was staying over at a friend’s house, even though both his parents knew he was going to spend a night with some guy he picked up at a club. He couldn’t listen to his mother sobbing down the phone to her sister, asking her where she went wrong and how she managed to raise a whore. No, in college, people were accepting. No one raised an eyebrow when he went with a different guy every night – in some cases, people found it impressive. No one called him a whore or a slut for his sexual promiscuity. No one cared what he did, and Connor loved.

***

“Oliver’s coming to mine at six,” Connor said as he picked up dirty laundry from the floor. It had been too long since anyone had come to his place. It was a mess; pans were still on the worktops, clothes were scattered all over the floor, and he couldn’t remember the last time he even attempted to dust the place. Usually, he didn’t mind the mess, it felt like home to him. But with the motive of someone coming to his house, he thought he should make some attempt to tidy a bit.

“ _Dude_ ,” Asher said. He voice sounded cracked and distorted from the phone signal, but Connor could tell his eyebrows were raised. “It’s about time you got some action.”

Asher was his last option once he’d tried to call Michaela, Laurel, and fuck, he even tried Bonnie. Unfortunately, no one picked up, and he was freaking out a bit. Asher could offer him some advice in one way or another, despite it not being in the least bit useful to anyone. It was better than nothing, Connor said to himself as he pressed the call button.

He listened to Asher make various exaggerated explicit sounds and endless gay sex euphemisms. Connor kept on throwing empty packets of food and dishes into the right places, wondering if he should make an attempt to clean them. He probably should, make a good first impression. Maybe he could try and seduce Oliver in the short time he was over. God knows what was going to happen.

“I heard that pineapple makes your-“

“That’s a myth,” Connor said, cutting off Asher’s incessant rambling.

“Don’t know unless you’ve tried it... Hey, Connor. If you and Oliver don’t work out can I-?”

“Fuck off and fuck you, Asher.”

“I’d let you fuck me anytime, baby,” Asher cooed, making Connor laugh, albeit in disgust.

“In your dreams. But you’re not helping here. What should I do? Should I make dinner?– I’ll make dinner.” Connor hurried in the kitchen, putting his phone on his shoulder and keeping it in place by tilting his neck.

“Gay guys seem to like Disney and Bananarama. Watch _101 Dalmatians_ and listen to whatever the fuck Bananarama have done, and then you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“Your stereotypes wound me,” Connor said, sarcastically. He looked through his cupboards, but only found an old pack of dried noodles and sauce which he didn’t remember buying. He looked at the use by date and cringed. Feeding someone food that went off over four months ago was a foolproof way to give them food poisoning. He put the glass jar on the side, telling himself that he’d throw it away when he was bothered (ideally before six).

“You’re too stressed about this, man. Did he say it was a date?” When Connor didn’t reply, Asher filled the silence. “See, not a date. Who says he’s even into cock?”

“He works in the library,” Connor reminded him. “Doesn’t sound like the straightest occupation, does it?”

“Hm, what happened to Mr. Anti-Stereotypes?”

“Whatever. You haven’t seen him. Definitely doesn’t give off a straight vibe.” Connor looked through the last two cabinets, cheering silently when he found a box of pasta and some tins of tomatoes. Making his own sauce wouldn’t be hard, he saw his mom do it many times before. Besides, homemade food was a sure-fire way to success with seduction.

“I didn’t even know we had a library here until you started lusting after that guy.” Connor laughed, it didn’t surprise him that Asher had no idea about the library. It shocked everyone that he managed to get through the first couple of semesters without failing or dropping out.

“You’ve officially been no help to me at all. Thanks for nothing,” Connor said, putting the tins of tomatoes and the pasta on the work surface. He looked at the cooking instructions, praying that they were simple enough to do. His cooking skills were next to non-existent, and even he could mess up something as simple as pasta in one way or another.

“Love you too, bro. Have fun on your date-but-not-a-date.” Asher ended the call before Connor could point out that it definitely _wasn’t_ a date. It was more like two friends having dinner together, but one bringing something which could put them both in serious trouble if they were caught.

A bit like drugs, but a lot less fun, and a lot more writing.

***

Connor was blessed with many things, but the culinary art was without doubt not one of them. He’d managed to burn the sauce, overcook the pasta and touch the hot stove, making the skin on his left hand blister. He wondered how he wasn’t starving to death, but then remembered how well his friends’ cooked, making sure he wasn’t going to starve or burn down his apartment block by giving him Tupperware boxes full of leftovers.

He tipped the third attempt of dinner into the trash, sighing. He didn’t have the money to throw away so much food. Even though Annalise gave them odd jobs to do for her, but she only gave them a small amount of money for their hard work – barely enough to survive, but they managed it.

He ended up looking through his freezer, smiling when he saw a frozen pizza at the bottom drawer. He moved the boxes of old food from it, putting it on the side before he closed the door. Connor heated up the oven and shoved the pizza in. Everyone liked pizza, so it was an easy bet... Unless Oliver happened to be lactose intolerant or a fucking vegan. If that was the case, he was sure he’d be able to find some lettuce or whatever to give him.

His apartment was the cleanest it had been since he moved in, and he was proud of it. There weren’t any dirty clothes or used condoms littering the floor, and the pans were washed and mould-free. It looked brand-new. Laurel wouldn’t believe him if he said he’d cleaned it himself, she was convinced he was raised in a barn and had a strong hate against tidying anything. It wasn’t like he hated cleaning, it just took up too much time – time he didn’t have to waste.

It was getting closer and closer to six. He watched the seconds go by, almost counting down with baited breath. He shouldn’t have been nervous – there was nothing to be nervous about. He was probably nervous because if Oliver got caught, so would he. Connor didn’t know Oliver well enough to say he wouldn’t rat him out if anything went wrong.

He was nervous about the legal implications of it all, _not_ Oliver coming over to his house for dinner – a dinner he hadn’t mentioned at all.

When the clock hit six, there was a light tapping on the door. Connor shot up from the couch, straightening out his shirt, and walked towards the front door. He took a few deep shaky breaths, calming himself down before opening it.

As expected, Oliver was standing there, a broad smile on his face. He had a large backpack on his bag, probably where all the stolen files were. Connor stayed in the doorway, not sure what to say. Neither of them had said anything, and the atmosphere was starting to boarder awkward.

“Are you going to let me in?” Oliver asked, hesitantly, adjusting the bag on his back.

“Oh- oh yeah, sure,” Connor managed to spit out, walking backwards to give Oliver some space. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” he said, still smiling – the smile that makes the rabid butterflies return to the pit of Connor’s stomach. “I like your place. It’s nice; cosy,” Oliver commented, looking around his small apartment.

“It’s, uh, it’s nothing much,” Connor replied, modestly. He closed the door and walked into the living room. Oliver was already sitting on the couch, admiring the posters dotted around the room.

“Never guessed you were the musical type of person,” Oliver said, smiling up at Connor.

 _Those goddamn butterflies_.

Connor laughed awkwardly and shrugged. He didn’t have an explanation for the posters. He didn’t like musicals at all, but they stopped the walls from being plain white, and the posters were going for dirt cheap at a garage sale a year or so ago.

Realising he wasn’t going to get Connor talking about musicals, Oliver opened his bag and dumped the file on the table. It looked a lot bigger in Connor’s apartment. A lot bigger and a lot more daunting. He still couldn’t bring himself to believe he had less than four days to research and complete the whole thing. He wished he had started it sooner, but couldn’t do anything about it now.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, gesturing to the file. “Obviously you could get in so much trouble because of this. It means so much, you know? Even though we’ve not known each other for long at all...” Connor knew he was aimlessly babbling, and his brain was screaming at him so shut up before he made a fool of himself. “It’s just- Yeah. Thank you, I guess.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Oliver replied, politely. “I think we can keep it hidden until you need it. I put an empty box where that one was.” Connor was sure he saw the other man wink, but passed it off as a trick of the light. “I should be going. It seems like you have a lot to do. Good luck.”

“Wait,” Connor said, far too quickly making him sound desperate. “I made dinner.” He motioned towards the kitchen. “It’s pizza. Do you want to, uh, share it with me?”

“You made pizza?” Oliver asked, impressed.

“If you count getting it out of the freezer and putting it into the oven as making: yes. Otherwise, no, I didn’t.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Oliver said, looking down at his shoes. What, was he getting shy? Connor felt his heart swell.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d stay anyway,” Connor admitted, his confidence finally coming through. “Talking in the library is hard because you have to stay so fucking quiet. We could get to know each other a bit better?” he suggested, smiling a little.

“Sure, I don’t have anything better to do.” Oliver relaxed back against the couch’s cushions.

“Don’t you someone at home you should tell you’ll be home later? Like, a girlfriend?” _Or boyfriend_. “You can use my phone if you want,” Connor said as he walked into the kitchen. He found an old cloth and used it to take the pizza out of the oven without burning his hand for the second time in a couple of years.

“No. No one at home. Just me, I’m afraid.” Oliver didn’t sound too fussed about being alone, and Connor tried not to show he was grinning to himself. At least he had chance to get with Oliver, even if it was minute. Honestly, Connor would take what he was given at that point.

Connor split the pizza in two and the cut it into quarters. He didn’t have any matching crockery, so he put them on similar looking ones. He doubted Oliver would care if one plate was white and the other one was pearl – they looked the same to Connor. Anyway, white was white, and some were just darker than others.

He walked back into the living room, offering Oliver a plate. He took it, thanking him gratefully. Connor laughed, waving his hand to try and deflect the complements. There was no talent in heating up a readymade pizza, but Oliver clearly thought otherwise.

“So,” he said, after taking a large bite of pizza and swallowing. “What do you wanna know?”

Connor looked away, trying to hide a smirk. He had so many questions he wanted answering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Coliver/HTGAWM fic. I tend to stick to bandom ones, but I'm broadening my horizons (and writing styles, I think).
> 
>  
> 
> This was meant to be a one-shot, hense the length of the chapter. But, like usual, I got too invested with the charters. I can't guarantee that every chapter from now on will be this length, but we'll see.
> 
> I hope I portrayed the characters correctly, and the humour aspect wasn't lost to everyone.
> 
> Finally, feedback/comments are always welcomed.


	2. Chapter 2

It was just past nine when Connor stumbled into the classroom. Oliver had stayed over much later than either of them anticipated. Connor had considered setting up a makeshift bed on the couch once it reached two thirty, but Oliver left his apartment at some time between three and four in the morning, thanking Connor for the company he was he was only too pleased to provide.

Oliver had turned out to be a lot more interesting than Connor expected, much to his relief. They’d talked about nothing important – mainly hobbies and interests. They had a few things in common, forcing them into an hour-long debate about which was better: the book or the film? Needless to say, Oliver won the argument, claiming that books were supreme compared to the pile of shit that happened to be the film adaptation.

“I don’t have time to read,” Connor had said when he was trying to prove his point. “Why would I spend days thinking about what was going on in the book when I could watch something for two hours? It’s only the logical thing.”

“You’re- but- books are _meant_ to make you think – that’s the point of them!” Oliver cried, looking at Connor with a mix of disbelief and slight annoyance. (The look was good on him, Connor thought to himself as he was glared at).

“Such a typical librarian, you book fucker.” Oliver flipped him off, biting his lip to stop himself from grinning. Connor’s stomach did a summersault, and his dick twitched at the sight.

“Your argument is weak, Walsh. I win. You and your film bullcrap can’t beat books, nothing will.” And, with that, Connor dropped it. They went back to discussing meaningless things, laughing about the mishaps which happened in the library (which were a lot, surprisingly).

Connor made his way to his seat, shuffling past a couple of classmates, all making disapproving sounds as he tried not to hit them with his backpack. He regretted choosing a seat dead in the centre of the line of students, but he had worked out that if you blended in with the rest of the class, Annalise was less likely to call you out – the less work he had to do, the better.

He managed to get to his seat the second he saw Annalise take her place at the front of the room. She lifted an eyebrow, pointing at Connor has he hurried to get his pen and notepad out of his bag.

“Late again, Walsh?” she asked, leaning against her desk. “What’s the reason this time?” Everyone’s attention was quickly turned to him, fifty pairs of eyes all looking at him, waiting for an answer. He didn’t want to give his real reason – it was so lame and childish. Plus, he could already hear the mocking from the rest of the students – Asher in particular.

“Got too caught up in the essay you set us,” he lied, smiling sweetly. He cast his gaze down a couple of rows, and made eye contact with Asher who, as expected, was making obscene hand gestures depicting a cock in his mouth. Connor rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little – just enough for Asher to see, but not enough for anyone else to question it.

It was obvious his professor didn’t believe him one bit, but didn’t pry. She went around the class asking about how their work was coming along; every response was the same – a disinterested groan or sleepy nod. Morning lessons were never the most animated. They mainly consisted of Annalise trying to get answers from the class, but usually only getting a reply from Laurel or Michaela. They always tried too hard to impress, but if it meant they answered for the other people, no one complained one bit. It was better for them to answer, get the right answer and let the other fifty people to scribble down a rough adaption of what they said than embarrassing themselves by getting everything utterly wrong.

Taking one for the team. Is that what they said? Whatever the saying was, Laurel and Michaela did it countless times without objection. Plus, they always allowed Connor to copy their notes (even though it took hours of begging and sweet talking them into submission). There were definite advantages to having a pair of fucking nerds as friends.

He really did try and concentrate on the class – he really did – but his eyelids felt too heavy to keep up for longer than five minutes at a time. Luckily, he was near the back of the class, making it harder for anyone to see him take a quick nap. Connor rested his chin on his palm and let his eyes slip closed for a while – he was only resting his eyes, definitely _not_ sleeping.

His mind wandered back a few hours to when he was with Oliver. The memories made him smile. It was obvious they got on, and Oliver was the easiest person to talk to. The both of them seemed to share the same dark twisted humour, making it far too easy for Connor to joke about a case he’d once came across in the archives. Many people didn’t find anything funny in the death of a young child who fell into a pool of piranhas, but Connor found it absolutely hilarious. It was almost too comical to be real. He wished people saw the horribly humorous side to it.

Connor didn’t want to get too ahead of himself, but he was sure they classed themselves as friends. Soon, he’d work on making it more – it took time if he wanted to do it properly. He had a sneaking suspicion that Oliver wasn’t someone who was for one night stands or the friends with benefit label. No, he wanted to do this properly (or as properly as he could manage).

Relationships had never been Connor’s forte, though. They took too much effort and commitment. If he wanted casual sex, he could make his way down to the closest bar and pick up a guy. They were a simple, no strings attached way to get a mutual orgasm – nothing more, nothing less. There was no waking up next to someone, limbs tangled together; no lazy morning kisses; no making breakfast half naked and fucking in the kitchen after the food was long abandoned.

All he got was a cold walk home.

This was going to change. It was going to be perfect. They’d live together in the little suburban home, maybe with a few dogs. They’d have the idyllic life with three and a half children. Maybe a-

“Walsh.” Connor was brought back into the room. He blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to the dazzling lightings shining down on him. When did the classes get so bright? Maybe he had died and he was in heaven. He didn’t want to die just yet; he still had things to do.

“I can see you were concentrating on what I was just saying. Would you mind giving me the answer?”

Okay, he wasn’t in heaven, it was definitely hell.

Connor panicked, stuttering out a few jumbled words, none of them making anything near a comprehensible sentence. His classmates looked at him, trying to keep smirks off their faces. Annalise, however, didn’t look too impressed with him sleeping during her lecture. At times like this, he was glad looks couldn’t kill because he was sure he’d be on his way to the morgue that very second.

“Nothing?” Annalise said in a monotone voice. He watched as she made her way up the short flight of steps to where his table was. The people around him tensed, sensing her bad mood from a mile off.

From the corner of his eye, he saw another person raise her hand, nervously biting her lip. When Annalise noticed her, she nodded her head, willing her to give the answer Connor should have said. “Trekell, 2009. Found dead in his house by his fifteen year old daughter. Coroner ruled it as a suicide, but later footage showed someone leaving his house with a weapon – a knife. The blade and person involved are still unaccounted for. Judge refuses to change the cause of death until more evidence is found.”

“Thank you, Laura,” their professor said. “If you paid attention, you would have said that, right?” she asked, giving Connor an unconvinced look.

He nodded, not attempting to say he would. The look on her face alone told him otherwise. He probably would have reached the correct answer after reading it... probably. Whatever, being put on the spot wasn’t fair – he blanked under pressure.

She walked back down to the front of the class, tapping the chalkboard a couple of times to regain the attention. Connor forced himself to stay awake, fighting off the lure of sleep. He scribbled down some notes, even though he knew they’d be illegible whenever he needed to look over them again. He would have to beg for Laurel’s work for the fifth time in two weeks. His friends’ patience’s were wearing thin, but he exploited their generosity as often as he could. What else were friends for?

Annalise ended up dismissing them twenty minutes before the end of class, claiming they were all too distracted to work and it was wasting her time standing there. She told them to finish their assignments, saying they had to be good enough to stand up in court on their own. Although a handful of people laughed, Connor knew she was being serious. Annalise was notorious for her extremely high standards for anything – work, projects, tests. If they were part of the curriculum, she wanted them aiming for As. She said she didn’t accept slackers, and that was proved within the first week of them enrolling into her class.

Connor had never been so glad to leave the room. It was always too warm in there, making him sleepier than he needed to be. He made his way towards the exit, already feeling the fresh breeze waking him up.

“Guess you had a wild night with Ollie since you couldn’t keep your eyes open in class.” Of course it was Asher; he would be the only one on the face of the earth that was so direct. Connor doubted he had any filter telling him what was an appropriate thing to say in their college, only metres from the ears of their professor.

He sighed, turned around to face Asher who was leaning against one of the concrete pillars. “We just talked,” he said, tiredly, rubbing his eyes to add to the effect. “I’m tired. Can we talk about this later? Why do you care, anyway?”

Asher scoffed. “I bet you’ve still got Oliver tied up in your sex dungeon.”

“You’ve been to my _apartment_. No sex dungeons there. Sorry to disappoint you.” Connor stretched, clicking his joints back to where they should be. His neck felt stiff from his awkward napping position, he needed a massage or something to get rid of the uncomfortable knots. “Go and talk to Michaela. She and Caleb are into bondage and power play.”

“I heard my name,” Michaela’s voice came from around the corner. She had her books under her arm, ready to go to her next class. She smiled, not understanding why Asher was giving her a shocked, yet intrigued look.

“Bondage, huh?” Asher said, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Never thought you’d be into that shit. And Caleb, too? _Damn,_ Michie.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, unimpressed at the formation of a new nickname. “But, bond- _what_? Connor!” Michaela shouted, as she realised what was being said about her. She turned to where Connor was, but wasn’t surprised when the space was empty. She rolled her eyes, ignoring Asher’s ceaseless questioning as she walked to her second lesson.

***

Connor was sure he took a left turn straight into the ninth circle of Hell the moment he walked out of the building. It was _boiling_. Sweat started to trickle down his face after a couple of minutes, making him feel even worse than he did before. He’d never liked summer. It was too hot, too long and too humid for him, but he did appreciate the two months free from college. That was it. Summer proved to be nothing like they’d shown him on endless teenage films. No one went on road trips in their old pickup trucks to some undiscovered beach, nor did he smoke pot around a bonfire.

Overall, his summers were pretty eventless.

Somehow, in his sleep deprived borderline heat-stroke state, Connor forced his way through the library doors on autopilot. He blinked a few times, trying to remove his sleep-blurred vision. He was too tired for this shit, and only wanted to go home and pass out for a number of hours before trying to face the file. He didn’t want to do it; all he wanted to do was rot away into his bed.

He slumped down on the nearest seat. His limbs started to feel unusually heavy, his eyelids closing despite his best efforts to keep them open. He knew his attempts would be futile, but it was worth a shot. He’d already fallen sleep in class; the library was the next big step in his quest to fall asleep all around the campus. Soon, he’d try one of the benches situated around the grounds; they looked rather comfortable – homeless people did it all the time.

Connor crossed his arms, making himself a makeshift pillow. With his head comfortably resting against his arms, he took in a deep breath. If he took a quick nap no one would know. It wasn’t like he was attracting any attention to himself, and he was told he didn’t snore. And once he woke up, he could try and bullshit his way through an introduction for Annalise. Perfect. A foolproof plan.

He let his eyes shut, feeling his body instantly relax. However, it wasn’t long until he was poked on the back, harshly.

Slightly pissed off and groggy, he looked up to see who disrupted him. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was the bitchy librarian, only waking him up because she wanted to make sure his life was unliveable as possible. Or, for the best scenario, it was Oliver waking him up to see if he was okay, maybe offering him a hug – perhaps more?

Hoping for the best, he craned his neck to look behind himself. To his confusion, the person behind him was neither the old bitch nor Oliver. It was Asher, looking somewhat pleased with himself. Connor raised an eyebrow, too lethargic to form anything close to a sentence.

“Where’s that hot piece of ass you keep telling us about, then?” Asher asked, talking far too loudly for the quiet lull of the library. Connor felt his blood rush to his cheeks, making them feel as if they were burning up. Asher scanned the room, peering over the lower bookshelves until he made an ‘ah-ha’ sound.

Oliver was staking books on the other side of the room, luckily, too engrossed in keeping them balanced on his forearm to pay any attention to Asher staring at him for far too long. Next to Oliver was the older librarian stood by him, whispering instructions under her breath. Oliver nodded politely, pushing his glasses back up his nose and removing the book he just placed on the lowest shelf to one a bit further up.

Asher looked back down at Connor, a small smile on his lips. “I’m not gay, but.” Connor groaned internally, hitting his head on the solid surface of the tabletop. “I wouldn’t say no if he wanted to have his ways with me.”

“Sometimes your definition of heterosexuality astounds me,” Connor muttered, his head still firmly connected to the table. “How did you manage to find this place? It’s been a myth to you for the last two and a half years,” he said, lifting his head off the table.

“Bon told me,” Asher replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“Bon?”

“Bonnie.”

“Since when did you start talking to her?” Asher’s silence both brought on and answered Connor’s suspicions in one go. “Ugh, seriously?” he said in disgust. “Why are-? Actually, I don’t need to know – I don’t _want_ to know.”

“Not my fault chicks can't stay away,” he said, gesturing to his body. “Don’t roll your eyes at- oh, hey. Ollie’s coming over here.”

No, shit. He knew he looked awful; shirt soaked through with sweat, hair plastered to his face, and dark circles under his eyes. He wanted to look his best every time he came in contact with the other man, not drenched in sweat, hair unwashed and bruise-like shading beneath his eyes. He hadn’t checked a mirror all day (he wasn’t a vain guy), but he caught himself in the reflection of a random person’s car on the way out of the university. He looked a step away from death’s door, and that was before he battled his way through the blistering heat.

He started to run his fingers through his hair, trying to tame down the strands that were sticking up in every direction. However, his effort was useless – nothing worked to keep them in place. He really wished he made an effort with his appearance that morning, but he had woken up too late to even consider showering.

“Watch out, loverboy,” Asher said, nodding towards a space between two bookshelves. As expect, Oliver was standing there, a couple of books under his arm. He gave them both a sheepish smile, waving with his free hand. Oliver’s eyes darted between Asher and Connor, trying to work out who to speak to.

Asher caught onto the extended silence, excusing himself wordlessly. Connor guessed he had better things to do than hang around a library – it probably involved Bonnie, too. _Ergh_. He couldn’t look the two in the eye anymore. Also, he found it a bit unfair. Everyone else managed to find someone to hook up with, but he was still chasing a fucking librarian.

Good things came to those who waited; his mother had said to him once as she went through the endless old wives’ tales her mother had told her as a child. Fuck, he hoped the gods were looking down upon him and the planets aligned soon – or whatever happened when something other than shy looks where past between them.

“Hey,” Oliver whispered, taking the seat opposite him. He placed the books down on the table, giving Connor a worried glance. “You look...” he trailed off, not knowing the right word to use.

“Shit?” Connor suggested, smiling weakly.

“No- no, not shit,” Oliver said, a bit panicked. “Just, uh, tired? I feel like that’s my fault. Sorry.”

Connor bit his tongue, stopping himself from pointing out the sexual connotations of what was just said. Although his other friends’ would have laughed, he still hadn’t managed to gauge Oliver’s level of maturity. Judging by his career, Connor could guess it was miles above his.

Connor shook his head. Even though he was running on less than four hours sleep and a horrible lack of caffeine, he still mustered up the energy to form some words in the right order to reassure the other man. His words came out slower than he thought, more drawn out than usual; Oliver didn’t look convinced at all.

Oliver ducked his head, probably to stay under the radar from the library’s equivalent of the devil. “You still haven’t started looking through the Debiak case, have you?” his voice was significantly lower than it was seconds before, making it next to impossible for Connor to catch half of the words – the lack of sleep didn’t give him any advantage, either.

Connor shook his head, feeling a small amount of panic finally set in. He didn’t have enough time to do it, and it was becoming more and more evident by the hour. He’d fucked up, accepting it was the first way to ignoring it, right? If he realised the flaws of his ways, he could reflect on them. He could only get better.

Oliver shifted in the seat, lacing his fingers together as if he was having a serious internal debate with himself. Connor cocked an eyebrow, wanting to know what was suddenly troubling his friend (he was calling them friends. It was easier that way) so greatly.

He let out a long breath, looking Connor in the eyes. He looked... Connor couldn’t place the expression, but it was one he’d never seen on the other person before – not even when he was ‘observing’ him for weeks.

“Are you-“

“I’ll do your essay – report, whatever it is,” Oliver said, he sounded like he had his mind set on it already.

_What?_

“What? You-,” Connor stuttered out. He couldn’t let a practical stranger do his work, especially not in university. That shit may have worked in high school, he was sure his teachers only skimmed through his homework before giving him a pass – they cared about his education as much as he cared for the school; evidently not a lot. Annalise would notice it wasn’t his writing style within seconds, and then he would only have _more_ interrogation-style question to answer for. It was too risky.

“I’ll start it off you,” Oliver suggested, pushing his glasses lower down his nose. He looked over the black frame, blinking slowly. Either Oliver didn’t know what he was doing, or he purposely wanted Connor dead, but whatever he did made Connor’s mouth dry out and his thoughts turn to mush.

His brain was screaming at him to reject Oliver’s offer, as nice as it sounded. Having someone make a head start with his writing would help him considerably, but it wasn’t a route he wanted to go down. Not just yet, anyway.

“I- uh, sure.” He said it before his brain could register it, regretting his words the millisecond they left his mouth. Oliver grinned at him, the happy sparkle back in his eyes. Connor’s heart lodged in his throat at the sight.

“Go home. Sleep. I’ll be over when I’m done here. Is around six okay for you? I’ll bring food.” All Connor could do was nod slowly as his sleep deprived brain tried to process what was happening. Oliver coming to his ( _again_ ) to do his work? It was all too much, and started to pan out like an experience he had in high school that he wished to forget.

When did his life turn into a whole string of clichés and unforeseen events?

“Chinese,” Connor said, his voice sounding airy and unfocused. He was convinced he was edging towards an out of body experience. “Uh, bring Chinese food,” he added, clearing up any confusion.

“Right,” Oliver said, nodding. He smiled at him fondly. “Get home, get some rest and I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

Connor mumbled something, hoping it sounded roughly like he was agreeing. “There’s a spare key under the plant pot – I know it’s a stupid place to keep it. You can use it to let yourself in, if you want.” He yawned, stretching out against the cushioned chair. He knew he had to move at some point, but he wasn’t ready to enter the Earth’s core again. He wished the heat would go and be replaced with snow. At least with snow he could get time away from class.

Fucking global warming.

Oliver made light conversation with him, but Connor didn’t have the energy to listen. He watched Oliver’s lips move, captivated by how soft and perfect they looked. They were mere metres from each other, and there was nothing to physically stop him from leaning forwards and pressing his lips against Oliver’s. However, PDA in the library wasn’t on their agenda, and he presumed a same-sex kiss would drive the old woman’s brain into turmoil at the view.

Connor bit his lip, holding back a laugh.

“Mr. Hampton,” an annoyed whisper came from behind them. Connor jumped at the new voice. When did someone sneak up behind them? “Once you’ve finished socialising with Mr. Walsh, I’d like you to get back to your job. You aren’t being paid to sit around.” He could hear the dislike dripping from the woman’s voice, making them both cringe.

“I’ll be right there,” Oliver replied, shaking his head in frustration, but only enough that Connor could see. He watched as Oliver got up from the chair adjacent to him, putting the books under his arm again. He walked around to stand next to him and leaned in closer, practically resting his chin on Connor’s shoulder. “Sleep,” he whispered before straightening up, returning to the bookcase he was at previously.

Connor felt like he was floating to his apartment, nothing felt real. Exhaustion was catching up with him quicker than he could walk, and he was sure he was dragging his feet across the floor when he got to his apartment complex. He struggled with the keys, trying numerous times to find the right one to fit his lock. He had keys from his old house, his ex-best friend’s tree house (although the ‘tree house’ was a shed in the bottom of his garden, it was the best he was allowed), and some random ones which no one knew their purpose. However, he kept them on his chain just in case someone asked for a key that he hadn’t used in fifteen years – it was better to be safe than sorry, he thought.

Stumbling through his hallway, he kicked off his shoes, throwing them somewhere in the compacted space. Tidiness would have to wait, his bed was calling him.

***

Sleeping fully clothed seemed like a good idea when Connor nestled under his duvet; however, he realised the mistakes he’d made the moment is alarm chimed loudly from his bedside table. His legs felt stiff as he tried to remove his jeans and sweaty shirt. He made sure he woke up a good hour before six, giving him plenty of time to shower – he didn’t want to smell like a gym locker room for much longer than he needed to.

Once his clothes were off, with the exception of his boxers, he walked towards the bathroom, stretching as he went. The nap didn’t make him feel much better; his eyes still felt like they were going to betray him and close at any second, and he was starting to develop a dull ache at the back of his head.

Great – perfect, just what he needed. A killer headache and a fuck tonne of work to do, they practically went hand-in-hand for a quick trip to failure and a breakdown from the stress.

He kicked the door open, letting the handle hit against the wall. Tiles were probably cracked, his landlord would be pissed if he found out, but there was nothing careful gluing didn’t solve.

Connor sat on the edge of the bath, fiddling with the temperature until it wasn’t like liquid fire or ice cold – getting the in-between of the two temperatures always proved impossible, he had many memories of feeling his skin burn under the hot stream, or of his teeth chattering as he stepped underneath the freezing water.

He sat there for a while longer, keeping his hand under the shower, catching the water in the palm of his hand, watching the droplets drip off the ends of his fingers in a steady rhythm. The constant noise nearly lulled him to sleep again, much to his utter frustration. Knowing his luck, he’d pass out in the shower and drown, leaving Oliver to find his lifeless body in a pool of water.

But it was one way of getting out of starting his work.

Suddenly, drowning didn’t seem like such a bad idea at all.

He knew he couldn’t waste anymore time contemplating his own demise, he had better things to do than that. Like, actually getting into the shower, for a start. There were probably people in the poorest regions of Africa dying of dehydration, and he was just letting the water go straight down the drain. Maybe if he donated water, he’d turn into a national treasure – Annalise couldn’t yell at someone who ended world droughts.

Death or the saviour of millions of people, they were both viable options if he tried hard enough.

However, his plans were stupid and unachievable, as much as he would have liked them to become true. Groaning, he removed his boxers and stepped under the water.

***

Oliver was bored out of his mind. He’d managed to escape his job a couple of hours early, claiming he was too ill to work. His colleagues didn’t care; they just rolled their eyes and muttered something he didn’t catch under their breaths. Honestly, it was probably do to with 'the youths these days', it always was. Old people seemed to repeat the same phrases time and time again; Oliver started to suspect they had some form of acute memory loss.

He had been wandering around the university campus for the best part of an hour, looking for things to keep him occupied until six. His search resulted in him finding nothing but an old bench to sit on. Luckily, the weather was being kind to him. The sun was still up in the cloudless sky, and there wasn’t any wind. Birds darted across the sky, breaking up the sea of pale blue, happily chirping to one another. It was a picture-perfect summer’s evening, everything Oliver wished it would be like when he finally got a break from work.

With a sigh, he slumped down onto the bench, taking the weight off his feet. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes against the bright glare of the sun. People talked among themselves as they walked by the bench, mainly complaining about the upcoming exams they hadn’t studied for and their flatmate who thought it would be a fun idea to lock themselves in a storeroom until they were found hours later, passed out against the door.

Oliver laughed quietly; being a college student seemed to be an interesting experience – definitely more play than work.

Sitting alone quickly got tedious. He checked the time on his phone and decided that turning up around an earlier than he said he would wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Besides, Connor had said where he kept the spare key, too, meaning he didn’t have to hover outside the door until someone answered, and he could make a head start on the essay he accidently said he’d write the introduction for.

At the time, it was the best idea he’d ever had – Connor’s face alone only made it better. However, reflecting on his snap decision, he realised he had no fucking clue what he was going to write. He’d never heard of Debiak until Connor had come into the library looking for it. Fortunately, he had received consistent high grades in his English class and could bullshit as if his life depended on it – he just needed to throw in some posh-looking words in the midst of his aimless rambling to make it look more convincing.

Simple.

***

Considering Oliver had only been his Connor’s apartment once, he was pretty pleased with himself that he managed to find the right place as quickly as he did. He saw the plant pot with a large, fake plant ‘growing’ out of it. It looked horribly tacky, but it did manage to add some colour to the grey hallway, and it was an adequate hiding space for a key, albeit the most obvious.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Oliver felt kind of odd letting him into someone else’s house, especially when he didn’t see anyone sitting in the living room – only the papers he had left the night before were on the coffee table, untouched.

He wasn’t sure what to do. Was it socially acceptable to sit on practically a stranger’s sofa whilst they were somewhere else? Should he look for Connor? Announce his arrival? He chuckled, imagining himself shouting ‘honey, I’m home’ at the top of his lungs like a 1950’s husband returning from work at the factory.

Oliver slowly walked into the main part of the apartment, putting the key on top of the pile of papers. He sat on the edge on the sofa, looking around the room. The posters were still up, all with larger-than-life people smiling down upon him. It was a bit unnerving, but he didn’t judge. He picked up a file from in front of him, leafing through the pages. Endless amounts of words flash before his eyes, all complex law terms he couldn’t wrap his head around.

“How can you defend a murderer whose never been found?” Oliver said to himself, shaking his head.

“It’s possible.” Oliver felt his heart stop and speed up simultaneously. “Made you jump?” Connor laughed. He was leaning against the door frame, towel drying his hair and trying to conceal a smug smile. Oliver let his eyes look over the younger man’s body. He was dressed in an old oversized shirt and a pair of baggy trousers – nothing special at all, but Oliver couldn’t look away. There was something about how they shirt hung off his body, exposing smooth, pale skin that he wanted to-

_Oh, fuck._

Oliver swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure and clear this mind. He cocked his head to the side, silently willing Connor to continue talking (partly because he loved the sound of the other man’s voice and partly because he was still lost with the concept of hypothetically defending someone who had been missing for over twenty-five years).

“You have to pretend they can’t make it, I guess,” Connor explained. He slowly walked from the door, sitting down next to Oliver a bit closer than necessary. He could feel the heat coming off Oliver’s body – a warm, strangely calming feeling. He took in a deep breath, making sure his voice didn’t come out an octave higher than usual. “Of course the judge and jury know they won’t turn up, but we just try our very hardest to win the case.”

“You like making things difficult for yourself,” Oliver commented, glancing at Connor.

Connor grinned happily. “That’s exactly what Michaela said.”

“Maybe you should take her hint. She’s a smart person. Are you sure this isn’t _too_ hard?” Oliver asked, picking up a random bit of paper from the file and turning it over a few times. He loved books, he loved reading, but this was ridiculous. And all in less than a week? It wasn’t possible.

“Have you seen this shit, though?” Connor asked, leaning forwards to grab a few sheets of paper. Despite his best efforts, Oliver’s eyes still managed to focus on the small amount of skin that was exposed when Connor’s shirt slipped up his back. “Christine J. Debiak,” Connor read. “Born: January twentieth, 1964. Died: December twenty-fourth 1982.”

Oliver did the math in his head and gasped in horror. “She was only eighteen?”

“World’s a shit place,” Connor said, shrugging. “Just before Christmas, too.” He scanned through the papers, trying to act like he was reading the information; he didn’t want Oliver knowing he knew that case back to front. That would make him look insane. “Miss Debiak’s bones were discovered in a plastic bag in the Black Hills, South Dakota, three months after she was reported missing by her mother." Connor looked up from the paper he was reading off. "It was so weird how far the person travelled to hide her body since she was last seen in Portland," he added.

“Just her, uh, bones? What happened to her body?” Oliver whispered. He looked between interested and close to throwing up, much like Connor had been when he read all the details after the class finished.

“This is where it gets better!” Connor said, quickly realising how psychopathic he made himself sound. “Well, not _better_ because it’s obviously a very, very bad thing, but this is where it differs from many of the others Annalise has made us look at.” Connor silenced, wondering how to word it correctly. “They didn’t find her body because it was, um, eaten. By the person who killed her.”

“ _No_ ,” Oliver gasped, his mouth dropping open in shock and disgust. “You’re lying – please say you’re lying.” When Connor shook his head, Oliver paled. “He... ate her? Like, what? Alive?”

“They believe he cut her up and cooked her. There were parts of her bones that were burnt in places.”

“He- What-? How? Wait, don’t answer that,” Oliver managed to stutter out. “Uh, let’s get started on this and I’ll go out to get us food.” Although he doubted he could stomach the food, he wanted the topic of conversation to change. He didn't want to have nightmares about being kidnapped and murdered – not with his overactive imagination, anyway.

“Chinese?” Connor asked, hopefully.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, as long as we get this fucked up thing done. I don’t know how you sleep at night knowing all of this shit.”

Connor just laughed, his smile reaching his eyes and making them sparkle, even in the dim lighting of the living room. Oliver smiled back, even if it was slightly shyly.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (All cases used in here are 100% fake. There isn't a mass murderer wandering around the USA that was responsible for the ones in here... to my knowledge.)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Just pointing this out in case anyone is worried.~~


	3. Chapter 3

It was 5:38 AM when Oliver finally shut down his laptop. The sky was changing from an inky black to a dim pink colour, casting warm light into the small room. Even though the light was a welcomed, it made his eyes water. He hadn’t been lucky enough to nap; unlike Connor who happened to fall asleep the moment Oliver suggested he made a start with the bulk of his work. It was a funny coincidence, Oliver thought, but he didn’t have the heart to wake the other man up – besides, he looked cute with his face pressed up against one of the couch pillows, drooling slightly.

Oliver rubbed his eyes. He didn’t realise how tired he was until he stopped typing. He hadn’t pulled an all-nighter since high school, and he doubted he would have even attempted it before Connor was introduced into his life. He regretted being awake for so long, knowing that he had to force himself to stay awake in work – and the library was a perfect place to sleep, it was so quiet and warm. He’d have to drink a bathful of coffee to keep him going, he could tell already.

He placed his laptop onto the paper laden table in front of him. They had managed to flick through some of the court scripts and witness statements, but Oliver couldn’t make any sense of it – law jargon was impossible to decode at the best of times, never mind being sleep deprived. He had forced Connor to make some rough notes, but that had taken a good fifteen minutes of pleading to get anywhere. It amazed Oliver how unmotivated someone could be at times, even if their teacher was the infamous professor Keating. Maybe Oliver took his short time in college too seriously? He didn’t know, but he had a horrible suspicion that Connor wouldn’t get far with his degree if he didn’t work soon...

Oliver knew he had to make his way back to his house at some point. As comfortable as he was, sleeping on Connor’s sofa wasn’t his idea of a good nap – even though he could only fit in a handful of hours before he had to force himself off to work. Perhaps he could pretend his was sick again? Would his work colleagues care? Probably not. He could make himself look ill enough, too. No one would want to see an unwell librarian – not like they’d want to see one in full health, either.

Despite his body protesting, he pushed himself up from the seat. His limbs felt heavier than normal and his head started to spin. In short, he felt like shit. He managed to take a few unsteady steps forwards, trying to regain his balance as he went. He looked down at his laptop and sighed. He’d just have to leave it-

His train of thought was cut off when he heard someone call out his name, sleepily. Oliver turned around – far too quickly, making his head feel like it was going to implode – to face Connor, groggily staring up at him from the couch. The early morning light was making his skin glow, softening his features. Connor’s hair, which was usually immaculate, was sticking up in every imaginable direction, making him look younger – more innocent, in a way. Adorable; that was the only word that could describe what Connor looked like at that moment. Utterly adorable. It was weird that the man before him could change so drastically, but Oliver managed to smile back, suppressing the urge to try and flatten out his hair and kiss the man’s forehead softly.

He smiled gently, extending an arm in Oliver’s direction, trying to reach out to him. “Stay,” he murmured, shifting around a little to make room for Oliver to lie down next to him. Oliver felt his heart speed up a bit as Connor patted the space he’d made. “C’mon,” he whispered, somewhat impatiently, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“Fine,” Oliver said, surprised when his voice didn’t come out sounding strained. He edged back to the couch, taking his time to try and figure out what the fuck he was supposed to do. There was hardly enough space for Connor on the narrow sofa, never mind adding another person. A shiver ran down Oliver’s spine when he realised they’d probably have to lie close together – too close to be comfortable.

“I don’t bite,” Connor joked, laughing drowsily as Oliver walked at a snail’s pace towards him. “Unless you’re into that.” Even when he was half sleep he still insisted on making Oliver blush despite himself.

All of Oliver’s pervious concerns left him the second he sat down on the plush cushions. He felt Connor shuffle behind him, pushing himself up against the back of the seat. Somehow he had managed to create enough room for two people do lie next to each other with a reasonable gap between their bodies. Relief spread through his body, as much as he would have loved to cuddle up against Connor, he could tell the time wasn’t right... yet. Plus, wasn’t it weird to start to spoon someone he’d only know for less than three days? It probably was, but luckily, he would leave that question unanswered for another night.

“Your hair’s a mess,” Oliver whispered, pulling lightly on some of the strands that were sticking out, only making it worse. Connor whined at the comment, pushing his face into the cushion. Even through the early morning sunlight, he could see the faintest blush appear on the other man’s cheeks – or that’s what he hoped.

Connor, whose face was still firmly buried into one of the pillows, grabbed Oliver’s arm, pulling him down to lie next to him. He laughed to himself when the older man made a surprised noise as he fell sideways, crashing against the seat. “Better,” Connor said, voice slurred with sleep. Oliver felt a light touch on his hip bone – nothing suggestive, just keeping him from falling off the seat.

Without much more resistance, Oliver relaxed into the comfort of the sofa, allowing his eyes to finally close.

***

Three loud, sharp knocks on the door followed by an _oomph_ sound were the things that woke up Connor from his semi-peaceful sleep. He was confused, disorientated and still a little drowsy when he sat up and looked down at the floor to see who caused the noise of a body hitting the ground. He had to try and stifle a laugh; Oliver was sat on the floor, squashed between the sofa and the table, not looking too pleased with his wake up call.

“Who’s that?” he groaned, rubbing the lower half of his back, probably where he hit it on his way down. Moments later, Oliver glanced around the floor, searching for his glasses. It was only on rare occasions that he didn’t have them on – contact lenses were far too much hassle, and he always ended up nearly poking his eye out in the process of trying to get them in place.

“Dunno,” Connor answered, shrugging. Oliver just shook his head in fake despair before going back to seek out his glasses.

Another series of loud knocks followed, and then sound of someone calling his name. It didn’t take a genius to work out who was behind the door. He decided not to keep the person – Laurel – waiting much longer; he had a fairly good relationship with his neighbours and didn’t want to get his landlord evicting him due to disturbances, or get fined for being a nuisance.

Connor stepped over Oliver, glasses now in his hand. Oliver hadn’t made an attempt to move from the floor, and it seemed like he was going to stay in the small gap between the table and seat for a while longer. Connor chuckled at the other man and walked towards the front door. Laurel was still hammering at it like her life depended on destroying everything he owned. Connor started to dread the damage the girl was making on the other side; fist-shaped dents were hard to remove from wood.

“Open the door, Walsh. I know you’re in there,” she shouted, irritation dripping from her voice. Connor sighed, bracing himself for the anger he was going to experience so early in the morning. He wished he was asleep again, happily pushed up against Oliver’s back – warm and safe.

He unlocked the door, letting it swing open. As expected, Laurel was standing there, looking less than amused. She brushed the stray bit of hair that had fallen in front of her face behind her ear, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Connor. “ _So_ ,” she said, her eyebrow still raised. Connor was starting to feel judged.

“So?” Connor asked, unsure what else he was meant to say. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to keep his hands warm to protect them from the cool draft that was coming from the hallway.

Laurel looked at him, the ever permanent expression of disappointment on her face. Not knowing what to do, Connor stepped to one side, wordlessly letting her in (because he was a nice friend, not that he was starting to worry that frost bite would start taking his fingers if the door was open for any longer.)

“Have you not checked the time?” Laurel asked as she walked through to his living room, dumping her book on the side as she went. When Connor didn’t answer, she turned to him – the look of dissatisfaction still etched onto her face. “It’s nearly one, you idiot,” she said.

Connor laughed, it couldn’t be past midday. He’d set an alarm to make sure he was in time for his class. Still not believing his friend, he looked at the digital clock on the radio beside the TV.

He felt his heart miss a beat. 12:56 PM shined back at him in bright red garish numbers, almost mocking him. All Connor felt like doing was panicking or going back to sleep – preferably the latter as he’d already managed to miss a good quarter of his lessons. True to herself, Laurel did fuck all to console him. She just watched on, smirking a little as Connor hurried around his small apartment, trying to throw as much as he could into his bag.

“Did you forget to set your alarm again?” she asked, the smug smile still on her lips. Connor shook his head, too rushed to speak. He’d managed to pack as much as he could in the shortest time possible, and started to see if he could find a shirt to put over his pyjamas. He didn’t care if he looked like he had crawled from under a bush – not right then, anyway.

“Was doing work,” he said quickly, but he guessed it wasn’t so much of a lie. He had been doing work... for a bit, but then he fell asleep. Anyway, he had made some kind of headway into it, and that was all that mattered.

Connor groaned inwardly when couldn’t find his shoes. Why did this _always_ happen when he needed to leave in a hurry? Usually, he was tripping over shoes and various items of clothing, but when they were needed they seemed to have gone on vacation to some mystical island of Fuck Knows Where.

“You? Work? I don’t believe it,” she commented. Connor muttered a string of curses under his breath at the remark, but made sure she was just out of earshot. He wasn’t that unenthusiastic to do work. He had his motivated moment even though they were few and far between. “Oh, and Asher mentioned you have a crush on-“

“Crush? Are you twelve?”

At that exact moment, Connor’s life ended. He caught Laurel’s eye, silently willing her to shut up and not say a word. It was obvious what was going through her head – it didn’t take a genius to work out what she was thinking. He tried to shake his head as discreetly as possible. It looked bad: both of them worn-out, un-showered and the place was a tip. At least he’d remembered to clean up the used condoms and bottles of lube on the previous weekend – that would have made his situation so much worse.

“So _you’re_ Oliver,” she said as if she’d had some kind of monumental realisation. Connor started to think that he was the only one that bothered going to the library. He honestly started to query the existence of the building at some points during his time in college since it seemed to be a mythical place to all of his friends, and some of the newer professors.

“I am,” Oliver replied, cautiously. He glanced up at Connor, giving him a perplexed look, searching for an explanation.

“This is Laurel and she’s just leaving.” Connor wrapped his fingers around her wrist and started to drag her back towards the door. She allowed herself to be pulled forwards for two steps before stopping in her tracks, halting the both of them.

She looked down at the coffee table, which was still covered in the stolen – borrowed – file.

“What’s that?” she questioned, gesturing at the mass of papers. There wasn’t any point trying to make up a complex lie to save himself, she’d probably worked out what they were already but enjoyed watching Connor squirm. Besides, it was blindingly obvious what they were – bold titles were written across the top of each sheet. When no one answered, she managed to free her wrist from Connor’s grip and went to pick a random page up, turning the paper over a couple of times. “Are you allowed to take these out?” she asked Oliver.

“No,” Connor answered for him, sparing the both of them ten seconds of Oliver trying to stutter out a lie. “But no one needs to know, right?” He smiled weakly at her.

Laurel didn’t look convinced, but didn’t try to put them away to take them back. Connor knew she followed the rules by the book. She believed that the world would turn upside down and anarchy would occur globally – fire in the streets and riots in every city. The lot. He was glad she pitied him at times; it came in useful when they had to bend some of the rules to get things done.

She sighed to herself and shook her head. “We’ll talk later, okay? I have to get to class and so do you,” she said to Connor. “Also, doesn’t Oliver have to work?”

“Taking the day off,” he replied with a shrug.

“I see Walsh as already had an effect on you,” Laurel said. Connor wanted to defend himself but she was already making her way out of his apartment before his brain could register the harsh comment.

They stood in stunned silence for a minute, not sure what to say. Oliver still looked a little shell-shocked at how close he came to losing his job, and potential jail time. They’d probably have to hide the file under a bed – or stuffed in mattresses like people in drugs rings did to hide their stash. Oliver didn’t know. He’d never stolen anything; his teenage years seemed pretty dull compared to most. He’d never been part of the crowd in school that was centred around sex, drugs and alcohol scene; he was the one who sat in the back of the class, reading a stupid amount of books and a handful of comics. Parties weren’t his thing, a packed room of hormonal teenagers mixed with copious amounts of beer and shots never ended well. It wasn’t like sex was high up on his list, either. High school was full of closeted gay kids, or ones who wanted to experiment, no one was willing to have a serious relationship – but that wasn’t surprising when he was surrounded by horny eighteen year olds.

In short: Oliver was a fucking nerd in school who couldn’t get laid to save his life.

“I should go before Professor Keating murders me,” Connor joked, but there was no humour behind it. “You can stay here, if you want. Do whatever, but don’t take my shit.” He pushed the strap of his bag higher up his shoulder and gave Oliver a friendly smile as he past.

“You’re still wearing your pyjama top. I can see it," Oliver called after him, trying not to chuckle. He looked a mess, and his hair was still in mats – he looked like he could be homeless, if Oliver was frank.

“Don’t care. See you later.”

Oliver heard the door close quietly, quickly followed by the sound of someone running down the hallway. He silently hoped that Connor’s teacher would be lenient, but he’d heard stories – like most people on the campus – that any form of kindness from Annalise was given out rarely, especially to people like Connor.

Now he was completely alone, in an apartment he didn’t know and had a few hours to burn. His back still hurt like hell from his rude awakening and he was sure he’d given himself a nasty bruise to top it all off. It would probably need explaining later on, but he could make up something to give it a better back-story – rolling off a couch wasn’t the most heroic thing to cause an injury, and he was certain he would be labelled an idiot if people knew the truth. No one would dare question him if he said he got it in a fight – he didn’t need to include that the fight was between him and the solid corner of an unforgiving table.

He ended up sinking back down on the couch and looked under the sheets of paper for the remote. From what he remembered, morning TV wasn’t anything good – game shows and infomercials dominated the screen. Still, it was better than sitting in silence; they proved at good background noise for a couple of hours, even if they tried to tell him things no one ever wanted. Did anyone need paper towels that could absorb ten times its weight in water? No, not really, but Oliver still found himself being seriously convinced to pick up the phone and hand over eleven dollars for one in the past.

He found a random channel, letting the woman on the screen try to persuade him into buy a blender that seemed to be able to blend anything on the face of the earth for the price of an average house.

***

The remaining two hours of his lesson were uneventful. Annalise blanked him, not even making eye contact as he walked towards his seat. It was odd, but Connor didn’t complain about it – there were no interrogation-style questions to answer for. The only person who noticed his presence was Laurel, cocking her eyebrow at him as he fished out his paper.

Annalise, still ignoring his lateness, continued teaching. She was talking about some of the technical terms and reasoning behind any court case – the boring parts, Connor labelled them early on in his college career.

He quickly started to daydream, not caring enough about the complex words coming out of his professor’s mouth. If they were important enough he’d find someone to copy their notes.

***

Connor must have set a new world record for packing his stuff away when Annalise dismissed them. He wanted to get out of that building before any of his friends bumped into him. He could tell that Laurel had started some kind of rumour among the small group of people he talked to as Asher had looked behind him occasionally with an impressed expression, followed by a smirk.

Honestly, Connor didn’t want to hear any of it.

He pushed past the people loitering around the doorway, making it onto the steps leading down to the road. So far, he’d managed to evade every possible person. Things were going well, until he stopped at the top of the flight of steps to put his notebook in his bag.

“I heard you and Ollie finally got it on,” Asher shouted from the doorway. Connor cringed, knowing people were looking at the both of them, shocked expressions on their faces. Asher walked up to him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “I see why you’re late now. I wouldn’t want to leave that hot-“

“Don’t,” Connor said, snappier than he first intended, successfully shutting his friend up for a second. “Nothing happened. We were doing work.” Asher gave him an unconvinced look, still grinning at him. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me?” Connor asked, rubbing his eyes with the heel of palm, sighing.

“What’s this I hear? Connor’s doing work?” Michaela asked, closely followed by Laurel and Wes who were having an in-depth conversation about something Connor didn’t quite catch. “You get a boyfriend and everything changes,” she commented, laughing when he groaned and muttered curses under his breath.

“I don’t do boyfriends,” he said, defending himself. The girl made a mock-agreeing sound, nodding emphatically. “Look, just because I actually want to get something out of the fucking degree after I started talking to Oliver doesn’t mean anything. You’re just thinking into it too much.” His argument seemed weak, even to his ears. “It means nothing.” Connor headed down the steps, ignoring them calling after him, laughing as they did so.

He needed to make new friends.

***

The dingy hallway had never looked as welcoming as Connor climbed the stairs to his floor. As usual, the elevator had broken – but no one trusted it. It was built in the early 1990s, and hadn’t been serviced since. It was probably a death-trap; Connor didn’t feel like getting stuck in a metal box and waiting for the lack of oxygen to kill him.

He fumbled with his keys, realising that he’d have to get rid of the excess ones as he put the wrong key in the lock for the third time. Eventually, he managed to push the door open, letting it hit against the wall with a loud bang. Even before looking, Connor knew there was going to be yet another hole to cover up the next time his landlord came to inspect his place.

Sighing, he threw his bag and coat on the floor in a neat pile, and walked into the living room, sitting back down on one of the old armchair he had somehow managed to acquire. As he scanned the room, he noticed it was tidier than he remembered leaving it – a nice surprise by any means. He guessed that Oliver must have done some cleaning before he left, his tendencies for organisation shining through from how orderly the library’s shelves where a week previously.

“She didn’t kill you, then.” Connor jumped, not expecting anyone else to be with him. He looked towards the archway that connected the living room and kitchen, making eye contact with Oliver, smiling at him. He’d changed into a loose top and some sweatpants when Connor was in class, but he didn’t remember the other man brining anything else with him, expect a laptop...

“Are you wearing my clothes...?” Connor asked slowly, starting to recognise the old top he’d bought from a thrift store before Christmas.

“Yeah,” Oliver said, suddenly becoming shy. He pulled at them hem of the shirt, twisting some of the fabric around his fingers. “Turns out we’re the same size.” He shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh, making food,” he announced, trying to get the attention away from his outfit.

“You can cook?” Connor asked, reasonably impressed, dropping his other questions within an instant. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a meal that was cooked in his kitchen; the only cooking he managed was heating up premade dinners in the microwave. Granted, it wasn’t the most nutritious food, and he was sure his mom would have had a heart attack if she saw what his diet was. But, to him, food was food, and as long as he wasn’t on his deathbed, he was fine.

Oliver shrugged. “Rarely, but I was bored,” he muttered, barely audible. “It’s not like you had much here. What do you eat on a day-to-day basis?” He sounded genuinely concerned, glancing at him for half a second.

Connor smiled gently at him. “Take-outs or whatever I can find to warm up – usual starving-student meals.” He stood up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen. He peered around the corner, nodding when he saw a pot of something on the hob (it was a small miracle it still worked after being dormant for close to four months). “Nothing my mother would want me eating regularly,” he said, strolling past Oliver and into the other room. He stood in front of the pan on the oven, stirring it lightly. Whatever it was, it smelled good. His kitchen hadn’t seen a fresh food or vegetables in weeks. It was odd to see many of the kitchen equipment being used for the purpose and not things to hold pens or another trash can. “What’s this?” he asked, poking the food in the pan with the wooden spoon.

“Pasta,” Oliver replied, coming to stand next to Connor. “Like I said, you didn’t have much, so I had to make-do and improvise.”

“Looks good,” Connor said. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had half of this stuff.”

Oliver hesitated, not sure what the younger man was talking about. “Vegetables?” he asked after a second had past. When Connor nodded, he snorted. “Luckily, you had some at the bottom of your refrigerator, even if they were beneath the alcohol and whatever else you’ve got in there.” As he spoke, he opened the door to the fridge, laughing harder when he picked out some of the unconventional items in it. “Why do you have thirty centimetre ruler in here? Is that hygienic?”

“Oh! That’s where it went. I was looking for that.” He took the ruler from Oliver’s grip, placing it on one of the work surfaces for safekeeping. As much as Oliver wanted to question the reasons behind the random items in the refrigerator, he knew the expiation wouldn’t be anything worth listening to, no matter how humorous it may have been – plus, he didn’t want to know what else lurked in the depths of the seemingly indecent kitchen appliance.

Connor went back to idly mixing the food, humming a tune to himself as he did so. “After we eat, I’ve gotta finish the essay,” he said, sighing loudly. He picked up a particularly large chunk of zucchini with the spoon, only to drop it back into the sauce, splattering red across the hob. “It’ll probably get boring pretty quickly, so you can go back to yours, if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Oliver replied, searching for something to put the pasta on. “Where do you keep your plates or whatever you use?”

“Bottom left-hand cupboard, the one nearest the sink,” he said. “But if you stay, you might miss another day of work, and I know the Queen Bitch wouldn’t be happy about that.” Connor turned off the heat under the saucepan and faced Oliver – or that’s what he intended to do. Instead, he ended up gazing at Oliver’s ass as he looked for dishes. Nevertheless, Connor was pleased with that outcome all the same.

“Queen Bitch?” Oliver repeated, straightening up, two plates resting on his forearm. “You mean Mildred, I’m sure.” Connor nodded, picking up the pan of pasta to drain the water away. “She’s nice – no, don’t look at me like that! She can be- she _is_ pleasant to work with, people just get her wrong.”

Connor gave him a doubtful look, not buying what he was saying. The old librarian – Mildred – hated anyone who wasn’t alive during the First World War, and she made it pretty evident when she aggressively hushed anyone who spoke a few decibels above a whisper. It often puzzled Connor when he sat and thought about her career choice. There had to be a special over-eighties facility somewhere in America – and if not, he would make one for her to get her scowling face away from the students.

“Maybe you’re just an asshole to her,” Oliver commented, brining the dishes close to Connor, setting them down on the draining board next to the faucet.

 “Shut up, I’m an angel.” Oliver made an unconvinced noise, cocking an eyebrow. Connor grumbled, dividing the pasta between the two plates. “Especially to our elders,” he added. He walked back to the sink, putting the saucepan down. He’d wash it later, probably – but, maybe, if he left it on the side for long enough, Oliver would clean it for him. _Hm._

Oliver rolled his eyes, deciding not to push the matter any further. He covered the pasta with sauce, messily throwing it on – it wasn’t a competition, presentation wasn’t important. He handed one plate to Connor, who accepted it eagerly.

Connor walked back into the living room, sitting down on the sofa. He brought his feet up onto the seat, crossing his legs to create a place to balance the dish, waiting patiently for Oliver to join him. It took him about a minute to come around the corner, two forks in his hand, the plate resting perfectly on his arm.

“You’d be a great waitress,” Connor said from the couch.

“You mean waiter,” Oliver corrected him as he sat down beside the other man. He put the plate on his thigh, handing Connor a fork. After muttering a ‘thanks’, he started shovelling food in his mouth at lightning speed.

“No,” he managed to say between mouthfuls of food. “Waitress.” Oliver poked him with the end of his fork, making Connor let out a semi-pained noise. However, it didn’t stop his mocking. Oliver sat through five minutes of constant (playful) name-calling and muffled laughs until he caved in, letting Connor get his way.

“I make you food, and this is how you repay me?” Oliver said, overdramatically, as he stood up and took his dirty plate into the kitchen. He caught Connor watching him walk from the corner of his eye; evidently, Connor was no good at being subtle in the slightest. Oliver felt himself blush despite himself; an ugly shade of deep red took over his cheeks, making them feel as if they were on fire.

He stalled going back into the other room, wishing for the burning sensation on his cheeks to disappear.

The kitchen was a mess, pans littered the countertops and various vegetables were scattered among them. He sighed, maybe he’d made a good kitchen hand, all he did was clean up after people. Even when he lived with his parents, they made him do the majority of the chores; it quickly became second nature to him.

Oliver collected all the pans together, putting then next to the sink. He filled the basin with water and added copious amounts of washing up soap. Thick, white suds started to form on top of the water, covering the surface within seconds. Oliver looked around the space, searching for a sponge or cloth – he didn’t fancy touching old food which looked like it hadn’t been washed off since the Iron Age.

He started to feel like he lived there, even though he’d only been there for less than seventy-two hours. It was probably wrong to feel so comfortable with a stranger, but he presumed the usual rules were broken once Connor decided to snuggle up to him on the couch the night before.

 He turned off the water, hissing when he put his hands into the too-hot liquid to swirl some of the bubbles around. Still sponge-less, Oliver muttered under his breath as he shook off the water-soap mix on his hand.

“Connor,” Oliver called.

“Yes, my dear?” Connor replied in a sing-song voice. If sarcasm could kill, he was sure he would have been six-foot under by now.

“Fuck you,” Oliver shouted back, copying the other man’s tone. “I just want to know where you keep the sponges?– Do you own any?”

“Sponges are for the weak. Man up and use your hands, nothing bad is on them.” Connor paused, before adding, “I think.”

Great, Oliver thought to himself as he picked up a bowl that was left on the side. He didn’t want to think about it, knowing it would only make him gag. Some people were disgusting, and he started to wonder how Connor was still alive half the time. No balanced meals, poor hygiene, nonexistent sleeping pattern-

When did he turn into a concerned parent? Oliver didn't know. 

He continued to wash in silence, stacking the newly clean utensils on the side to dry off, despite them still being covered in a thick coating of foam. They’d disappear soon enough, he reckoned. Besides, washing was one thing, drying was a new one all together – it took too long, and was a little pointless; Mother Nature would dry them herself.

***

It was approaching seven o’clock when Connor decided to retrieve his laptop from his bedroom. Together, they’d already completed the introduction, making a good page and a half headway into the mass of writing. It was a good start, Connor thought as he skimmed through it. To his surprise, and relief, the terms used in it were all correct, even if he was sure Oliver didn’t know what seventy-five percent of them actually meant. Annalise wouldn’t be able to guess that someone else written it for him, and it was only the beginning – if the main part of the assignment was his, he wouldn’t have a problem with plagiarism or some shit like that.

Oliver was curled up on the far end of the sofa, head resting gently against the arm of the seat. He’d found one of Connor’s books (one that he’d forgotten he’d owned) and was reading it rather intensely under the dim desk light Connor had provided him with. He’d started to chew on his bottle lip within the first five pages, proving to be another great distraction for Connor. The longer Oliver applied pressure to his lip, the more red and swollen it became, making his mouth look like he had just stopped making out with someone – or fucking his mouth, he had yet decided which fantasy to think about.

Connor tried not to stare (he honestly did), but his eyes zeroed on the other man’s lips when he saw his tongue poke out, wetting his drying mouth. He was glad that he had developed immense self control over the years, because if he was any younger, he would have let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

_Shit._

The absence of the sound of keys clicking made Oliver look up from his book. He pushed his glasses back up his nose, giving Connor a (silent) questioning look. “Are you stuck?” he asked, putting his book down on the table and shuffling to Connor’s side. He glanced at the computer screen, reading what was already written. “Seems to good me, so far,” Oliver said in an encouraging voice. “You should be done by tonight, right?”

Connor groaned and gave Oliver a bleak look. There were papers all over the table, which had quickly slipped onto the floor. The room was a mess, it was getting dark, and he started to feel sick from looking at a bright screen for far too many hours. If Annalise wasn’t going to murder him for his half-arsed essay, the stress of it all certainly would do the job just as well.

“Why did I leave it to the last minute?” he whined, craning his neck to he could rest his forehead against Oliver’s shoulder. In spite of the odd angle, it was weirdly comfortable, so he kept his head there for longer than it needed to be. Luckily, the other man didn’t attempt to move him away – to Connor, he felt like he relaxed his shoulders instead of tensing them, making an adequate pillow for him.

“Not much you can do about it now,” Oliver whispered, looking down at the top of Connor’s head. “Come on, it won’t get done if you’re not doing anything.” He didn’t want to push Connor away, the close contact was comforting, in a way. It had been a while since he’d been with anyone, and even though he told himself he wasn’t bothered about being single, he knew that he missed the intimacy of it.

A couple of seconds went by before Connor sat up again. He rubbed his eyes, pushed his hair away from his eyes and managed to perfect one of the saddest and most depressing expressions Oliver had seen in a while. He wasn’t stupid, though. He knew exactly what Connor was trying to do: guilt him into writing another part of it work. Oliver smiled, but shook his head.

“Fine,” Connor huffed, positioning the laptop on his thighs better. He started to type, a bit more aggressively than before, making a number of words turn up with a red line underneath them.

Was he overacting? Probably. Did he care? Not at all.

“You’ll be fine. Just concentrate and it’ll be over before you know it,” Oliver said, still smiling at him. Connor rolled his eyes and muttered curses under his breath, but had no true menace behind the words. Oliver went back to his previous position, and got his book back from the side. He flicked through some of the pages, scanning them as he went. It didn’t take him much longer to find where he’d left off, pushing the sound of Connor’s angry typing to the back of his mind.

He was too immersed in his book to notice Connor flipping him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got to love a bit of domestic and sleepy Coliver moments.
> 
> Quickly - long chapters: yes or no? Are they too long? Do people get bored reading them, and should I split them into two 3k word chapters instead of one 6,000+ word part?


	4. Chapter 4

It was probably inappropriate to throw work on teacher’s desk, especially in university, but Connor had past the point of caring. He never wanted to see a laptop or type anything ever again. He felt like he’d been through Hell and back to finish what Annalise had told them to do – even though he knew he could’ve done it weeks ago. But, as always, Connor never learned from his mistakes, he just kept on doing them again and again until he was at death’s door for the fourth time that semester.

There was a neat pile of assignments on his professor’s desk, all with tidy titles, indexes, page numbers and appendixes. He didn’t care that his was a mass of writing with a few exerts from whoever's text he happened to look at whilst doing. It was completed, and on time, too. He was proud, to say the least. He was sure Professor Keating would be more than happy about his work ethic right then.

He slumped down into his seat, letting out a long sigh. He couldn’t wait to get back and sleep for all eternity. Luckily, on a Friday, their lesson was only two hours instead of three blocks of two and a half hour lectures. He had to survive a few hours and then he could sink into his bed and not see another person for a couple of days.

Perfect, he couldn’t wait.

More people started to file into the class, all looking equally as tried and they put their work next to their peers’. Connor managed to catch a few of the titles, and he guessed they were all roughly the same. He silently hoped that his extra hard choice would put himself higher in Annalise’s good-books (he needed anything he could get at the moment, his past performance in her class were anything but top-student like).

A group of people were talking about their plans for the weekend, mentioning something about a bonfire and then laughing. Connor remembered someone trying to invite him to a party the week before, and he couldn’t recall if he accepted the invitation. He hoped he didn’t, the thought of being in a space packed with drunken people didn’t seem like the best way to spend his time.

He narrowed his eyes at himself; he was starting to sound like Laurel. Maybe he should drag himself out to bed to check out the party.

“What’s got you all grumpy, Mr. Moodypants?” Asher’s voice snapped Connor out of his thoughts quickly. He turned to his right, looking at the other man with a confused expression. Typically, Asher would sit somewhere near the front, next to Michaela so he could shamelessly copy her work. It wasn’t as if the seat next to Connor was free either, it was usually occupied by someone called Sarah. Or was it Bethany? He didn’t care about their names, but he knew that Asher couldn’t stay there.

“Tired,” Connor replied, flatly. He gave Asher a shrug, trying to wordlessly tell him to leave him alone. He couldn’t find the energy to deal with anything, especially one of the most immature people in America.

Asher nodded, faking sympathy. “You wouldn’t be so tired if you stopped having hot sex with that Oliver guy,” he said, too loudly. He placed his hand on Connor’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. “I know it’s hard, but I believe in you.”

Connor groaned. He didn’t know what else he expected from Asher, he was more interested in his sex-life than his own. It was getting concerning now, but Connor didn’t know what else to do to get rid of him; he was relentless. He wished he’d never mentioned Oliver to Michaela because it only ended up in constant taunting from everyone – it was a surprise Professor Keating hadn’t jumped onto the bandwagon yet since everyone on the face of the earth had.

Asher kept on rubbing his shoulder, saying words of fake encouragement about getting Oliver off him – which, even if it was the reason he was so fatigued all the time, he wouldn’t want to do. He wasn’t insane. He’d risk falling asleep in every single one of his classes if it meant he’d fuck Oliver until neither of them could walk without cringing in pleasurable pain.

He blocked out Asher’s incessant talking and started to think about Oliver. It was getting sad, and he had to admit to himself that he did have a crush, no matter how much of a teenage girl it made him sound. Yes, whenever he saw the other man, he did feel happy and felt something in the pit of his stomach – something other than pure lust, which was a change. He wanted to hold his hand; go on dates to expensive restaurants neither of them could afford; watch shitty reruns of shows on the couch, cuddled up to Oliver and _then_ have sex with him.

Although he didn’t like the idea of settling down, the thought of having a semi-exclusive relationship seemed pretty nice. He wanted to know what it was like to come home to someone, to know what someone did and didn’t like. More than anything, he wanted to know what it was like to wake up next to someone, to kiss them (despite their disgusting morning breath), and to talk about their boring dreams as the new sunlight streamed into their room.

Whenever he allowed his thought to wander that way, he only imagined Oliver in the space of the other person, no matter how hard he tried to replace him with another nameless person. It was Oliver. Always Oliver.

Connor felt something heavy drop in his stomach. He never considered himself to be lonely, he didn’t have time for that feeling in-between hook-ups and schoolwork, but spending the best part of a week with another person made the horrible feeling take over his body. He wondered whether he was getting too focused on the idea, and Oliver probably didn’t feel the same way. He’d move on, one day. If Oliver was out of his life, he’d find another guy to be with. Maybe it was because he hadn’t gotten laid in close to a month. Connor just needed a release of some kind, ideally with someone he didn’t know to get Oliver out of his system.

“And then you get married, and die happily ever after,” Asher concluded, giving Connor a warm smile, but anyone could see there was nothing kind behind it. Connor was sure he’d just blanked out Asher narrating his life story, with some parts he was glad he didn’t hear, judging by the look on the other man’s face.

“Go away,” Connor said, weakly, pushed Asher’s hand off his shoulder. “Find your girlfriend. I’m sure she’d enjoy your story.” He covered his face with his hands, sighing deeply. He heard the sound of a chair scraping across the linoleum floor, making Connor cringe at the noise. It was strange that Asher didn’t make a fuss about being asked to leave, but Connor wasn’t going to complain any time soon.

The people in front of him had abruptly stopped chattering about the bonfire, meaning that Annalise had probably made her way into the lecture theatre. Connor considered not lifting his head from his hands, but could almost feel his professor’s eyes burning into the stop of his skull. Without any (verbal) protests, he raised his head, and pretended to concentrate on what she was saying.

***

Fridays were always the slowest days of the week. Who would want to go to the library on a Friday afternoon? Fucking nobody. Oliver didn’t blame them, though. If he had a choice, he’d much rather spend his Friday’s relaxing instead of in a stuffy building. He understood that it was one of the oldest structures on the campus, but couldn’t they install some kind of air conditioning? Still, it wasn’t like he could do anything, and it was clear that old people liked to be in oven-like temperatures.

Oliver walked into the stockroom, which seemed to be hotter than the main area. He didn’t think that was possible, and he was certain the surface of the sun would have been cooler than the building. If it got any warmer, the books were sure to catch on fire – or he was. He wasn’t sure which would burn first.

He picked up the new books which had been delivered that morning. He looked over the titles but nothing caught his attention. They were mainly reference books and various romance novels – what was most popular around this time. Oliver never thought there were so many closeted romantics in a university full of potential lawyers, but evidently, he was wrong.

Mildred was sat in front of the computer, typing in a new order. Oliver took a quick look at the screen, smiling when he saw that the order was for more sic-fi books, as well as audio books. He thought they’d died out a while ago, but didn’t judge. They were probably useful to listen to as people revised.

“Where do you want these?” Oliver whispered, gesturing towards the nine books on his arm. He knew where they needed to go, it was obvious, but the older lady always wanted to boss him around. Even if they were in the right place, she’d tell him otherwise, making him put them somewhere else for the shortest time possible before returning them to the right shelf. It was all very counterproductive, Oliver thought.

“The shelves just near the large window, right next to the first line of computers,” she replied, not looking up from the screen. She kept on typing, scrolling through the results, and clicking on a few at random. Oliver didn’t wait around for much longer, knowing that she’d only get annoyed if he started to hover around her. So, he nodded and made his way over, book perfectly balanced on his forearm.

A few more groups of people had entered the library, all looking exhausted – both from lack of sleep and the heat beating down on them. He watched as a couple of girls went towards the back, sinking down on the padded seats. Every single one of them looked worn out, but they still managed to pull out a wad of paper and make a start of god knows what.

Oliver quietly commended their motivation.

Kneeling down in front of the bookcase, he started to find room for the books. They’d developed a system to keep them organised: the authors’ surname A-Z. It kept everything as tidy as possible, and it was easy enough for people to find books that way. Or, well, that’s what Oliver hoped as he tried to find out where to put another book with the author’s surname as Williams. Mentally, he cursed everybody with that surname. Why did it have to be so popular? People really weren’t that creative anymore.

“Get on your knees a lot?” The voice broke through the tranquil atmosphere, making Oliver look up in mild surprise. He already knew who it was, the voice and comment only equalled to one person: Connor. If it was anyone else, he would have been deeply offended by the crude question, but he looked up, trying to hide a grin.

“Only for you, baby,” Oliver quipped, quirking an eyebrow. Connor snorted, but proceeded to sit down beside Oliver. He glanced at the clock over Connor’s shoulder, confused why he was here so early. He was almost certain their classes didn’t end until four-thirty, not just after one o’clock. “Shouldn’t you be wasting away in your lesson?” he asked, continuing to put the novels in the appropriate spaces.

“No,” Connor whispered. He picked up a random book and turned it over a few times. “Where does this go?” Oliver pointed towards the end of the shelf, smiling kindly as Connor went to put it back. “But its Friday – get to finish early today,” he said with a shrug, sitting back down next to Oliver on the floor.

“That’s nice,” Oliver mused, trying not to sound too jealous. He wished he could leave, just to get away from the furnace that he happened to call his work area. He looked down at the final novel in his hand and pushed it into a random gap – no one cared that much for the order of them, and they quickly went in every possible sequence within a couple of hours. It was a nice idea, Oliver said to himself, but rushed university students didn’t care much about orders when they put anything back. “How did your essay go? You got it in, right?” he asked, facing Connor.

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling a little. “Thanks to you. I doubt I would’ve handed it in if you didn’t force me to write parts of it, and also you did do the whole introduction, too.”

Oliver felt his face heat up, but luckily for the sweltering heat, there wasn’t any noticeable change in the colour. (This was the only time he was ever grateful for the sauna-like conditions of the library.) “It’s, uh, nothing,” he said, ducking his head so Connor couldn’t see the faint blush which had started to overtake his already heat-flushed cheeks. Small shows of gratitude shouldn’t have had that effect on him, but he was sure it was only because of the person thanking him. Oliver sighed inwardly, and shook his head a little, hoping that Connor didn’t notice.

“I need to make it up to you,” Connor announced. Oliver’s mind instantly went to dark and dirty places, regardless of him telling himself not to think about it – especially at work! Popping a boner in the library probably wasn’t the most dignified place he could choose. “How about I take you out for coffee?” Connor paused, looking out of the window. “Or ice cream. It’s too hot for anything warmer than frozen.” He gave Oliver a hopeful look, the smile that made Oliver’s stomach twist into knots still plastered on his face. “It’s my treat,” he added, as if Oliver would even contemplate saying no.

“Sure, ice cream sounds great,” Oliver replied, as coolly a he could. He was pretty impressed that he got some actual words out of his mouth, and not a weird high-pitched sound. He wished he didn’t feel like a teenager. He was closer to thirty than thirteen, needed to grow up and learn how to react to someone asking him out on a potential date.

Connor’s smile got impossibly bigger and Oliver felt himself die a little. “When are you free next?”

“My shift end at five, so half five is good for me,” Oliver said, standing up from the floor. He knew he needed to at least look like he was working before Mildred kicked Connor out for distracting her staff – particularly the ones who were ‘training’.

Connor nodded, still smiling fondly. “I’ll meet you here, then,” he said and left. Just like that. Oliver stood, watching the other man walk out of the library, he was sure he could see the younger of the two walking with a slight skip in his step.

***

“Slow down,” Michaela said for the third time. “You asked him out? Is that it?” She sat down on her sofa, looking at Connor with a perplexed look. She didn’t get what the big deal was; everyone was expecting him to snap at some point. If anything, it had taken Connor longer to make a move any anyone had anticipated.

“Yes,” he answered, trying not to smile too much. He didn’t want to make his friend worried; it was out of his character to make an attempt with, well, anyone. All he had to do was keep it cool, not show any emotions other than the smallest amount of excitement, and then he’d figure out something from that.

She looked at him for a while longer, working out what to make of it all. To many people, asking people out wasn’t a big deal, it just happened. The excitement died after a while and then you either broke up or adapted into a fairly domestic routine. She couldn’t imagine Connor doing the latter, but his excitement was too much for a twenty-five year-old.

Suddenly, a realisation hit her.

“Is this your first ever date with someone?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. Connor smiled flattered ever so slightly, answering her question. “It _is_ , isn’t it?” She had to bite back a laugh; it was kind of pathetic that someone in their twenties hadn’t been on a single date, but Michaela pitied him a bit. As Connor had told her multiple times, he didn’t do relationships or anything like that, so dating hadn’t been high on his agenda. Well, that was until now.

“We’re just going for ice cream,” he said, refusing to look at his friend. Without seeing her, he could tell she was smirking at him. He didn’t want to be told how immature his plans sounded, but it was far too hot to do anything else, and everyone loved ice cream. To him, it was a win-win situation. “I know it’s childish, but what else would you do when it’s hotter than the centre of the earth outside? It’s not as if a coffee date would be appropriate.”

“True,” Michaela said, nodding. “But why is it today? You wouldn’t shut up about how tired you were in class, and now you’ve ruined your chance to sleep by asking the love of your life out.”

“One: he isn’t the love of my life,” Connor corrected her, trying not to sound a little offended. “And, two: why not? Live while we’re young. Life’s only going to happen right now; no point living with the what-ifs,” he said, listing off a bunch of cliché phrases before Michaela hushed him, but throwing the closest pillow towards him, just missing his face.

Connor scowled, but decided against starting an argument – he didn’t have the time to waste. He’d only visited Michaela because he had no one else to tell, and also to subtly talk about his nerves, even though he didn’t want to admit he had them. He hoped that a girl would give him the confidence-boosting advice he needed, but Michaela was not that person. Instead, they’d ended up sitting in her living room, whilst she texted Caleb and Connor manage to retell the short conversation they had in the library.

He settled back down into the sofa, allowing his eyes close for a bit. He needed his beauty sleep, and Michaela’s apartment was one of the few ones blessed with air conditioning. Connor could tell he wasn’t going to get a lot of sleep for the next couple of nights, and not for the reasons he wanted. Usually, when it was too hot in the day, the heat was retained in his house, much to his distain. There was no escaping it, unless he slept in the bath and risked drowning in cold water.

“Wake me up before four o’clock,” he called out, his eyes still shut. He hoped that she’d heard, but wasn’t awake for long enough to hear a reply.

***

Being woken up from a nap was one of the worst things in the world. If Connor had the option, he would have happily accepted some form of death, at least then he wouldn’t have to face the tightness in his limbs or feel his clothes sticking to him. He felt disgusting, but at least he still as a good two hours until he had to be back outside. Michaela was a friend, she’d have to let him use his shower, as well as her fancy shampoos and body washes.

He pushed himself up from the couch, hating how his joints clicked back into place. He’d been friends with Michaela long enough to know how to work her shower, which was a feat by any means; her shower was the equivalent of cracking the Da Vinci code for bathroom appliances. Connor had often wondered why it was so hard to use as he stood before it, naked from the waist up. He had too much pride to ask her, so after endless amounts of trial and error tests, he managed to get it to work, and not to be too hot or cold. Needless to say, he was pretty please with himself at that moment.

Connor walked from the living room to the bathroom, noticing a distinct lack of Michaela in the apartment. He shrugged and guessed Caleb had called her. He was glad that she wasn’t there anymore; he didn’t want to deal with her when he used ninety percent of her posh smelling soaps. (What? He had to smell nice for Oliver, didn’t people like that?)

He took off his shirt whilst he walked into the bathroom, taking a detour to where her washing machine was. He put it in, setting it to wash quickly – he didn’t want smell like a gym locker room, even if he was going to get like that after five minutes from leaving the air conditioned building. Still, at least he made an effort to look decent. Oliver would surely be thankful for that.

He removed the rest of his clothing and let out a long sigh when he stepped under the cold stream of water. Icy water had never been appreciated so much until that very second. The cold water washed over his body, removing the clammy feeling from his skin, as well as the day-old sweat. He put his head under the water, soaking his hair completely. When he started to cough water up the water he’d accidently swallowed, he removed his head from under it, letting the droplets drip down his face, and hit the porcelain of the bathtub in a steady, constant rhythm.

Girls seemed to have a knack of hoarding various amount of shampoos, conditioners and body washes. Connor had never seen so many in his life before, not even in drug stores. He picked up a couple, reading the back of them. Many claimed to be the best at whatever they did, and some promoted healing qualities for areas he didn’t know existed. Did he want his soul to be cleansed because of an exfoliating scrub? No, but he was still going to use it because it smelled like vanilla, and it said it made his skin extremely smooth afterwards. He put the bottle down and quickly glanced at the shampoos, every one was some kind of scented flower or coconut, nothing he wanted to smell like. But, he didn’t have much of a choice. Anything was better than sweat, though. He sucked up his pride, and chose the first one he touched.

Connor read the label and snorted. They were so pretentious, it was only coconut shampoo. Still, he put a large amount of the hair product on the palm of his hand, and rubbed it into his hair, humming a tune to himself. Suds started to form within seconds, layering the bath with white sweet-smelling, froth.

The bathroom started to resemble a spa, aromas filling the air, almost making it sickening. Connor hurried up, not wanting to spend too much time there, he needed to dry his hair and dress before he could leave. Honestly, there was nothing worse than leaving the house with semi-wet hair, not to mention he couldn’t try and style it before he left.

He knew he was making his kind-of-date with Oliver more than he needed it to be; they were only going to get ice cream, not going to a pricey restaurant in the city. And Oliver was coming straight from work, so he couldn’t make half the effort Connor was considering doing. But he wanted to look _good_. If he looked a mess, would Oliver stand him up? He didn’t want to think about it – he’d gotten too far to fall at the last hurdle.

Connor turned off the shower and wrapped one of the fluffy towels around his middle. He walked around the small bathroom, waiting to hear the pinging sound to indicate that his shirt was washed. He wasn’t sure whether he could tumble dry it, but he’d have to run the risk of having it shrink a little to make sure it wasn’t soaking wet. He sighed, maybe he shouldn’t have taken that nap – it only made him feel like he was pushed for time.

He still couldn’t hear Michaela in the apartment, so he opened the door and rushed to where the washing machines were, grabbing his shirt from it. He checked the label, and when he saw no indication that it would come to any harm if it was exposed to extreme heat, he put it into the dryer opposite him. He hesitated for a second, unsure how to work it, but he pressed a couple of buttons experimentally, and smiled when he burst into life, producing a low whirring noise.

Back in the bathroom, he put his boxers back on and struggled with his jeans. It wasn’t as if they were skin-tight, but damp skin and denim seemed to be worst enemies and Connor battled with his trousers for a small eternity before he could pull them up properly. He paced around the space for a couple of seconds, getting his jeans in the right place – somehow, it always worked, but he was never too sure why looking insane for a handful of seconds made his trousers feel more comfortable. Clothes, Connor decided, were weird things.

During his short walk, he caught his reflection in the fogged up mirror. His hair was sticking up, damp in some places, completely dry in others. He tried to flatten bits down, but they went right back up the moment he moved his hand. Muttering to himself, he started to look in Michaela’s numerous bathroom cabinets. He had to have something, whether it was hairspray, hair straighteners or gel – he wasn’t fussed, as long as it was _something_.

Rummaging through drawers was probably morally wrong, but he’d decided that he was lacking in morals the moment he allowed himself to get fucked by three guys in one night. But, hey, it was a good night, and worth the pain the following morning.

“Walsh, if you’re looking through my stuff, you’re so dead,” Michaela’s voice echoed through the apartment. Seconds later, there was a knock at the door, but it swung open before Connor could reply. “I go out for an hour, and you move in? I’m honoured that you think we’re at that stage, but I don’t think Oliver would be best pleased if you took him home and he found out what you two weren’t alone.”

“I need to do something with my hair,” Connor said, still looking through her cupboards. He’d found nothing he wanted, unless he wanted to curl his hair, but he could tell that wouldn’t work well at all. “And he won’t be coming back to mine tonight, anyway. My place’s a mess.”

Michaela walked into the bathroom and opened the cabinet opposite Connor. She took out a pot of hair gel and handed it to him. “You left it here from last time,” she said. “You also smell like me, which is fucking weird.”

Connor took the tub gratefully; he’d been looking for it for weeks.

“Get ready and get out of my place. You’ve only got half an hour before you should be picking up your _boyfriend_.” Connor tried his best not to take the bait his friend way laying but something inside him twitched whenever someone said Oliver was his boyfriend – why didn’t people understand that he didn’t do boyfriends? Was it that hard to understand?

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he muttered for the umpteenth time, putting too much gel into his hair. He ran strands of his hair through his fingers, making it stick up a little before he pushed it into a nice quiff-like style. “And I’m nearly done, I just need to get my shirt and then you’ll never have to see me again.” He took one last look at himself in the mirror, making sure that there were no stray bits of hair sticking out at odd angles, and walked past Michaela, into the other room.

The dryer was still going, but he stopped it halfway through it cycle, hoping that it wasn’t dripping wet. Even if it was still soggy, it would have to dry in the heat given off by the sun, he didn’t have enough time to wait.

He slipped the shirt over his head, taking care to avoid knocking his hair out of place. He said a quick goodbye to Michaela, thanking her for not turning off the water when he was in the shower, and shut the door after he left.

***

It was still unreasonably hot outside, slowing him down considerably. People were wandering along the sidewalk, taking their time to get home. The sun was still up, the sky was still clear, and birds were the only thing to break up the mass of blue above them. It had turned out to be a pleasant summer’s evening, perfect for eating sickly-sweet ice creams and maybe a cold beer or two.

The library came into view when Connor turned the corner. He tried to stop himself grinning like a maniac when he saw Oliver leaning up against one of the concrete pillars of the structure. He, too, looked like he was about to melt, but still looked effortlessly good, much to Connor’s jealously. He picked up his pace, not wanting to keep Oliver waiting for much longer, and wanting to spend as much time as possible with the other man.

“Hey,” Connor called, albeit a little out of breath. “You’ve not been waiting long, have you?” he asked when he reached Oliver’s side.

“No,” Oliver replied, smiling at him. “I’ve only been out here for a minute, don’t worry.” Connor nodded, trying to catch his breath so he didn’t sound like an idiot. He let his eyes wander over Oliver’s body, latching onto how his white shirt stuck to his body, framing his thin structure perfectly. Connor swallowed the lump in his throat, and started to think distinctly unsexy thoughts to prevent himself getting embarrassingly hard.

Sometimes, he hated his overactive imagination and his very recent celibacy.

“So, are you ready to go?” Oliver asked, laughing awkwardly as he shuffled his feet.

“Uh, yeah,” Connor replied, too rushed to sound natural. “Come with me, I know a good place.”

Oliver nodded, and they walked off down the street together, occasionally brushing their fingers against each other’s if they got too close, but neither of them complained or mentioned it whenever it happened.

***

The ice cream parlour was pretty goddamn cute. There was a chalkboard on the back wall, displaying the types of desserts they had on offer, all illustrated with little cartoonish drawings of each. The freezers were full of different ice creams, all various colours and flavours, and toppings were in tubs towards the back. There was so much to choose from, and Oliver regretted not knowing of the place sooner. It would have been an ideal place to go after work on so many occasions.

“This is really nice,” Oliver commented, looking around the space. “How did you manage to find a place like this? It’s not exactly easy to find.” It was true; it felt like they had been walking for hours before Connor directed them up a back alley off the main streets. Oliver was certain that he would have missed it if Connor had tried to tell him the route.

Connor shrugged, a smile appearing on his lips. “I know a guy,” he said, biting his lip to stop the smile from spreading.

“Only you could make a frozen dessert sound like a Class A drug.” Connor laughed, gently punching Oliver’s arm. They made their way over to the counter, browsing the range of flavours. There were the classic ones: vanilla, chocolate, strawberry and mint choc chip, as well as some rather unconventional ones.

“I’ll have the blue cheese one if you get the barbeque sauce flavour,” Connor said, smirking at Oliver who had a disgusted yet intrigued look on his face at the proposition. “I’m buying, remember,” Connor reminded him, trying every way to persuade the other man into getting it. He’d had it before, and it was one of the most revolting things he’d ever tasted, but Oliver needed to find that out on his own.

“I’ll pass,” he said to Connor. “I’ll have a vanilla cone, with those sprinkles,” he said, addressing the woman behind the counter. She nodded, smiling. She asked Connor what he wanted, and replied that he wanted exactly what Oliver had – it was easier that way, also, Oliver couldn’t judge him on an odd taste if they got the same.

The employee handed over their ice cream and Connor gave her the money, telling her to keep the change – he didn’t want to carry around a couple of cents in his pocket, and the girl seemed pretty happy with the small tip. She wished them a good evening, telling them not to stay out in the sun for too long. Oliver laughed kindly, reassuring her that they wouldn’t.

They made their way out of the parlour, licking their ice creams as they started to drip onto their hands. They wandered around for a while with no real direction. It was nice to get out of the busy campus, away from the students who always seemed to be in a hurry.

Connor beckoned Oliver to follow him, not saying exactly where they were going. Oliver tried to get answers, but was only met with silence. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust the other man, and knew he wouldn’t bring him to any harm, but there was still a small underlying fear that rested in Oliver’s gut with the uncertainty.

Much like before, Oliver would have missed the turn if he wasn’t with Connor. They walked down yet another side street, but this one didn’t join up with another road. Oliver was taken aback when he was met with a large lake and some kind of sandy soil beneath his feet. They were miles from the closest beach, and Oliver had been brought up in Utah, which meant he had to travel for hours to get near any large body of water.

“What’s this?” Oliver asked, as Connor led him down an offbeat track down towards the water’s edge.

“A big lake,” Connor replied, nonchalantly.

Oliver laughed at the answer, making his glasses slip down his nose. With his free hand, he pushed them back up, stopping them from falling to the ground. “I can see that, but why are we here?” he questioned as they sat down, close enough to the water that they could touch it.

Connor stuffed the last bit of his ice cream into his mouth and started to unlace his shoes. Once they were loose enough to take off, he set them to one side, far away from the water to stop them getting wet.

“You ask too many questions,” he said, not looking at Oliver. “We’ll play a game, okay? You ask a question, I answer; you ask a question, I answer. We’ll set a limit at five questions each.”

Oliver was silent for a second, eating the rest of his ice cream before it made a puddle on the floor. “Right, got it,” he replied. “Do I go first?”

“That was one of your questions gone. You’ve got four left, choose wisely.” Connor smirked at him, shaking his head when Oliver flipped him off. It was cute seeing him getting all flustered.

As Oliver thought about what to ask, Connor scooted forwards, putting his feet into the cold water. It was nice to feel the liquid flow over his skin, cooling him down considerably. Oliver copied, taking off his socks and shoes, before sitting close to Oliver.

“Do you want to be a lawyer when you graduate?” he asked, looking Connor.

“I guess so,” Connor replied. Even to him, his answer didn’t seem that convincing. “Did you always want to work in a library? Seems a bit boring to me,” he commented.

Oliver fell silent for a handful of seconds, thinking of a reply. “No, not really,” he said, truthfully. “It wasn’t like I had much of an option after I, uh, dropped out of college a couple of years ago.”

“You dropped out?” Connor asked, trying to hide his shocked tone.

“Hey, wasn’t it meant to be my go next?”

“Yes, and you just used your question,” Connor laughed. “Why did you drop out?” he asked, pressing for an answer.

Oliver groaned and rested his chin on the palm of his hands. He looked out over the lake, trying to work out where the water met the sky – he didn’t think there it would have been possible to have such a large mass of water in Pennsylvania. “Didn’t like the course I picked,” he said, not making eye contact with Connor. “And before you ask why – because I _know_ you will – I picked the class because my parents wanted me to, pretty stupid, right?”

“Not stupid,” Connor said. “Loads of people do it. Making your parents happy and shit, it’s important – especially if they’re the ones paying. Sometimes you don’t have much choice what you do for three years, and then leave with a diploma and a lot of debt.”

Oliver chuckled and nodded. “They thought English Literature from the Shakespearian era was for me because I love to read and got good grades in my English class in high school. They got the first bit right, I guess, but I wanted to do something related to computers, but he dad wasn’t going to hand over the amount of money I needed for anything like that.” Oliver sighed. “I dropped out within the first semester and, yeah, here we are.”

“Sucks,” Connor said, quieter than before. “Would you go back and do IT if you could?”

“Yeah, probably,” Oliver answered. He glanced at Connor, only quick enough to see that the other man was also looking at him. He caught his eye, smiling at him sheepishly. “But there’s not much I can do now,” he said, trying to remove the sombre atmosphere. “Life goes on. So, do you have any siblings?”

“Do we have to talk about family? Mine’s really boring,” Connor whined.

“I didn’t make the rules.”

“Fine, I have one sister called Gemma and she’s in school. My mom works in the local hospital, and only god knows where my dad went,” he said, lifting his arms in a ta-dah fashion. “See, nothing life changing.”

Connor was silently glad when Oliver didn’t bring up his dad. He hated getting the ‘oh, I’m sorry’ remarks off people as if they cared about him. He didn’t care about his father; he’d left when Connor was barely old enough to speak, so he didn’t have any memory of the man. From what his mother had told him, he didn’t seem like the best of people to have around, so he felt kind of lucky to not have a strong recollection of him.

The questions came to a stop after that, plunging them into another silence, but it was anything but awkward. They kicked their feet in the water, occasionally splashing one another. Even though Oliver apologised profusely, saying it was an accident, Connor saw the corner of the other man’s eyes crinkle, showing the smile he managed to keep off his lips so well.

“It’s cute when you do that,” Connor said thoughtfully, turning to face Oliver properly.

“Do what?” Oliver asked, taken aback by the compliment. He felt himself blush. He had no idea when he started to blush so much, but it was starting to irritate him. Maybe he’d visit the doctor to see if he could get medication to stop blood rushing to his cheeks – his life would be so much easier that way.

“The thing with your eyes,” Connor answered. “You know when they shine? I like that.”

Oliver laughed and shook his head, his cheeks becoming impossibly redder by the second. He looked so innocently happy at that moment, as if nothing could hurt him. He looked up at Connor, his cheeks still flushed pink, and Connor wanted to kiss him more than he’d ever wanted to in his life right then.

So, he did.

It happened as quickly as the thought had entered his head. At one moment, he saw sitting a good meter away from the older man, and at the next his lips were pressed up against his. As a first kiss went, it wasn’t bad. Oliver was taken by surprise, so he let out a shock noise when Connor’s mouth reached his. Luckily, it didn’t take long until they both relaxed into it. Oliver instinctively put his hands on Connor’s hipbones, steadying them, as Connor resting his hand on the other man’s thighs. He leaned forwards, deepening the kiss, making it messier and more desperate.

Connor gently bit and pulled Oliver’s bottom lip, pushing his tongue inside when he was allowed access. It felt good – better than he’d expected in a million years. He shuffled forwards, his mouth still locked on Oliver’s; letting his hands roam up Oliver’s thigh and towards his crotch.

Oliver pulled back, panting heavily. “Not in public,” he said, pushing Connor hand away, much to both of their displeasure.

“Come _on_ ,” Connor whined. He took the opportunity to start sucking on Oliver’s neck, just where his pulse was, causing him to produce a strained moaning sound. “No one’s here,” he whispered between creating small love bites on the man’s skin. “No one needs to know, and public sex is so _hot_.” Connor voice dripped with lust and want, but not even that could persuade Oliver otherwise.

“If you want me, take me to yours. We can do whatever you want there.” They locked eyes, both with blown pupils, swimming with desire. Connor nodded, feeling his throat dry up at Oliver’s tone. Connor knew he wasn’t messing around, not with how husky his voice had become.

“Okay, fine, you fucking tease” Connor said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “But you can't expect me to keep my hands off you before we get there.” He started to run his index finger along the front of Oliver’s pants, making him let out an airy laugh.

“You’ll make me cum in my pants like a teenager if you keep on doing that,” he warned. He pushed the other man’s hand away for the final time, standing up to show that he was serious.

Despite grumbling to himself, Connor followed suit. He took Oliver by the hand, dragging him back up the pathway and towards the main road. “We’re going to have to fuck near that lake at some point,” he said, breathlessly.

“You’re so confident that there’ll be a second time,” Oliver said, still being pulled along by Connor.

“Oh, believe me. I _know_ there’ll be a second time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too many words, too many words, too many words.


	5. Chapter 5

Once Connor managed to open the door, he dragged Oliver inside by the wrist. Pleasantries weren’t needed; neither of them could wait much longer. The walk was almost torturous, especially when Oliver gently ran his index finger down Connor’s spine, stopping just above his ass, only to make him choke on a moan – teasing him even further. They were both lucky the streets were fairly empty as most people were either inside or had travelled to the beach. Connor didn’t want to know what scene they would have made if people saw them acting the way they were, even if they tried their best to be subtle.

Connor backed Oliver against the wall, pinning his wrists above his head, making Oliver groan in slight discomfort. “That’s what you get for being a tease,” Connor said, breathlessly, quirking an eyebrow.

“Asshole,” Oliver muttered, hooking one of his legs around Connor’s, pulling him closer until they were chest-to-chest. Connor took his opportunity, surging forwards and connecting their mouths. Oliver gasped in surprise, not expecting the sudden kiss, but quickly relaxed into it, working their lips together.

Experimentally, Connor bit down on Oliver’s bottom lip, watching to see if the other man would pull away. But instead of moving away in pain, Oliver let out a throaty groan. The sound went straight to Connor’s dick, turning him on even more.

Connor let go of Oliver’s wrists, making them flop lamely to his sides. Even at a glance, Connor could see small marks forming on the sensitive skin, making the pit of Connor's stomach pool with a pleasant hot sensation. He started to tug at Oliver’s shirt. “Off,” he said, his voice thick with lust. Oliver obeyed, lifting his arms above his head again, allowing Connor to remove his top. Once the shirt was off, Connor threw it behind himself, not caring where it landed.

He stared at Oliver’s naked torso, swallowing heavily to stop himself from saying something stupid. He trailed a finger down Oliver’s chest, coming to a stop when he reached the waistband to his jeans. He glanced up at the other man, looking for any kind of consent. Oliver nodded feverishly, making Connor smirk.

“Wait,” Oliver said, just as Connor was about to undo the button. He gave Oliver a confused look, not understanding what he was doing wrong. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Oliver asked, nodding at Connor’s clothed upper body. Connor quickly took off his shirt, probably ripping some of the material in the process.

“Can I blow you know?” Connor asked, trying not to sound impatient. He’d fanaticised about this moment for so long – too long – and he wasn’t going to let something as small as an item of clothing get in his way.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Oliver moaned, nodding quickly.

Connor cupped Oliver’s crotch, making the other man hiss and buck forwards, looking for some kind of friction. Connor let out an airy laugh, leaning forwards to place light kisses along his neck, nipping at the pulse to make Oliver squirm.

“I’m not going to last much longer if you keep on doing that,” Oliver warned as his eyes fluttered shut. All Connor did was laugh, popping open the button to Oliver’s jeans and zipping down the fly in one smooth motion.

“When’s the last time you got laid, baby?” Connor asked in-between sucking on the other man’s pulse.

“What’s – _ah_ – it to you?” Oliver asked, trying to sound assertive. However, Connor decided to move his focus from Oliver’s neck to his ear lobe, pulling on it gently until he got the reaction he desired.

“You seem pretty desperate,” Connor commented, moving his lips back down Oliver’s neck. Oliver tensed at the new feeling of wet lips trailing down his freshly bruised skin. He would have to hide them before work; he could tell they were going to be really dark, too. Jesus Christ.

“Hmm, less talking,” Oliver managed to say, getting Connor off the topic of his pathetic sex life. Connor didn’t complain at the request. He slowly started to drop to his knees, kissing and biting Oliver’s skin as he went down.

A week ago, Connor wouldn’t have guessed he would have been on his knees in his hallway for Oliver, but somehow, he couldn’t imagine it any other way. No, it wasn’t the most romantic setting, but neither of them cared. An orgasm was an orgasm, regardless of the location – it was great wherever.

Connor hooked his fingers around the belt loops on Oliver’s jeans, pulling them down swiftly, letting the fabric pool at his ankles. Oliver’s made a choked moaning sound when the cool air of the apartment hit his fully erect cock. Connor blew a breath onto the wet patch that was forming on the black material, making the man above him squirm.

“Come _on_ ,” Oliver urged, not liking how Connor was making him wait. He cracked open an eye, look down. The sight before him made his breath hitch – Connor looked beautiful with sweat-drenched hair, blown pupils and on his knees for _him_. The thought alone made Oliver’s mind reel. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

Connor noticed Oliver staring at him. He gazed up, a small smirk on his lips. “Name a kink, Ollie,” he said in a rather demanding tone. “I know you’re into something kinky – everyone is.” Oliver’s thoughts blanked at the request. Also, did Connor call him Ollie? He wasn’t going to question it right then. Connor noticed the other man’s prolonged silence and cocked an eyebrow. “Nothing at all?”

Oliver felt himself blush. He shouldn’t have be so shy talking about his favourite sex act – he was nearly thirty, for God’s sake. Besides, he doubted Connor would do it. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a long breath. “Snowballing,” he finally managed to say.

Connor made an affirmative sound. He shuffled a little, getting into a more comfortable position before taking hold of Oliver’s boxers. He pulled them down to his thighs, biting down a groan when he saw Oliver’s dick flatten against his stomach, pre-come decorating the tip.

He took a couple of deep breaths and loosened his jaw a little as he edged forwards. He ran this tongue on the underside of Oliver’s cock. The bitter flavour of pre-come filled his mouth, making him cringe a bit. He carried on, pushing the taste to the back of his mind. Connor brought his tongue to the head of Oliver’s dick, swirling it around the slit, teasing him. Oliver let out an unashamedly loud moan, his hands crashing against the smooth surface wall, searching something to hold onto as he dragged his nails down the plaster. Connor kept on moving his tongue in a steady circular motion, slowly pushing Oliver closer and closer to the edge, even though he knew it was too soon – Connor still had plans.

He pulled off, causing Oliver to make an annoyed grunting sound. “What are you-? _Oh_.” Connor pumped Oliver’s dick for a couple of seconds, leaving his hand at the very base of his cock where he was met with dark pubic hair. He closed his eyes and slid all the way down to where his hand was gripping the base, sucking hard.

“Holy fucking shit,” Oliver swore when he felt Connor’s hot, wet mouth surround his dick. Connor made a pleased humming sound, sending vibrations through his body, driving him slowly insane. Maybe he hadn’t been laid in a while because he was sure this was one of the best blow jobs he’d ever received, and it had only started.

Connor ran his tongue along the vein on Oliver’s dick, making the man above him grip onto his hair. A sharp twinge of pain shot through Connor’s body, making him let out a pained whine. Oliver muttered out a couple of breathy apologies, loosening his grasp, opting for smoothing the dark hair down instead – it was a weirdly caring gesture and Connor loved it.

Connor relaxed his throat, allowing more of Oliver’s cock to go down his throat. He hadn’t deep throated in a while, so he was out of practise, but Oliver didn’t seem to mind when he felt Connor swallow around him. The musky smell filled his nose as he buried his face in Oliver’s pubic hair, concentrating on the scent rather than the urge to violently gag. However, this didn’t last as long as Connor wanted as Oliver bucked his hips, making him choke at the unexpected movement. He backed up a bit, wiping the tears from his eyes, regaining his breath and slowing his heart rate.

“S-sorry,” Oliver said, moving his hands from the younger man’s hair to cup his face. He opened his eyes, his vision blurred by pleasure. Blinking a few times, he looked at Connor, giving him an apologetic smile. “You okay?”

“’M fine,” Connor said, his voice hoarse. Oliver didn’t look very convinced, but he didn’t have enough time to query him before Connor had his lips around his dick again. He made another long humming noise, sending tremors up through Oliver’s spine.

Connor could tell the other man was close; his breathing was coming out at a quicker pace than before and his moans were becoming increasingly frequent. He went back to swirling his tongue on the slit, already knowing it made Oliver go crazy.

“Connor – shit, stop, I’m gonna –“

Connor pulled off but only to get his bearing, shooting Oliver a look which he couldn't decipher. He grabbed his hips, shoving him back against the wall, pinning him in pace. He hollowed his cheeks, circling his tongue on the head for a final time. Oliver looked down at him for the last second, dizzy as his climax hit him, only to see that Connor had his hand pressed hard against his own crotch to stop him from coming, too.

“Shit, that’s so-“ However, Oliver was cut short as he came into Connor’s mouth. Much to his surprise, Connor takes it – without the slightest flinch. He takes it all, letting Oliver fill his mouth until he’d spent and worn out. Oliver’s legs felt weak, and he was amazed that he was still holding himself up. He reached for Connor, lamely trying to up pull him up from the floor.

Connor got to his feet, but didn’t say a word. For a split second, Oliver was confused, but then he noticed that Connor’s cheeks were still-

 _Oh_.

Connor shook his head, cupping Oliver’s face, and kissed him. He pushed Oliver’s come into his mouth until their tongues met through it. Connor let out a throaty groan as he swirled it around between them as they swallowed. During it, Connor took his hands from Oliver’s face and wrapped his arms around the older man’s middle, pulling their bodies together. Oliver quickly followed, loosely placing his arms on Connor’s shoulders, pushing his tongue deeper into his mouth. It was strange tasting himself, but by no means repulsive.

They kissed until the lack of oxygen started to make them feel lightheaded. Connor was the first one to break the intense kiss, resting his forehead against Oliver’s. They brushed noses, sharing short kisses, eyes half-lidded and both smiling at each other contently.

Connor splayed his hand across Oliver’s back enjoying the contact. “Hey,” he managed to whisper, his voice rough and raw.

“Hey,” Oliver replied, grinning. “That was... _wow_.”

“That good, huh?” Connor asked, laughing breathlessly. Oliver nodded sincerely, letting his eyes close.

They stayed like that for a minute, both panting and giggling. It was a weird feeling for Connor; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with someone he had some kind of feelings for. It was nice, and he wanted to keep it like that.

Oliver was the first one to break the comfortable silence. “Take me to your room,” he said in a low voice, stroking Connor’s jaw line softly, looking at him with dark eyes. Connor's body stiffened, only allowing him to gulp and nod as he took Oliver by the hand.

***

Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, waiting as patiently as he could whilst Connor frantically rummaged through random drawers. He was sure he had lube and condoms buried under the mass of letters and work – he _always_ had them. When he found them hidden under some old bank statements, he turned to face Oliver.

He grinned when he saw Oliver looking at him. He threw the items onto the bed. He unzipped his jeans, momentarily struggling with the fly. Once he removed his trousers, Connor walked to the bed, sitting next to him.

“Hi,” Oliver said quietly, tilting his head to place open, wet kisses on Connor’s neck that trailed down his shoulder, his collarbone, and finally dipping his tongue into the hollow at the bottom of his neck. Next, he slid his tongue up his throat, over his Adam’s apple and to the facial hair across his jaw. “I want you,” Oliver muttered, voice heavy with desire.

Connor’s eyes fell shut at the words, his fingers skating up and down Oliver’s side; he just about stopped himself tightening his grip. “Yeah?”

Oliver nodded, resting his chin on Connor’s shoulder.

“What should we do?”

Oliver snaked his hand down, palming Connor through his boxers. “Fuck me.” He kept on nipping at Connor’s neck, making it impossible for him to form a coherent sentence. “Will you?” Oliver asked, almost making such dirty words sound innocent.

“Yeah, I- fuck.” It wasn’t the most articulate thing Connor had ever come out with, but Oliver seemed to understand. “Lie down,” Connor instructed after he had managed to get his brain in gear.

Oliver’s eyes went impossibly darker at the request as he backed up the bed. Connor felt excitement surge through his body as he watched the other man get comfortable at the top of the bed. He quickly followed, crawling up the bed, waiting for Oliver to spread out on his back.

“Raise your hips," Connor said, reaching beneath the waistband of his underwear. Oliver obeyed, allowing him to remove his boxers and throw them somewhere in the room. Connor gazed down at the man’s crotch, lifting an eyebrow at the view. “Hard again?” he commented, looking at his hard, flushed cock leaking onto his stomach.

Oliver made a whining noise, wriggling on the mattress. Connor chuckled, taking off his own underwear. He let out a relived groan when the uncomfortable pressure of the fabric was gone. As he sighed, Oliver reached up and tugged him down, their mouths crashing together.

Even though it started off at an awkward angle, they managed to align themselves just right to get sharp bolts of friction sparking through their bodies. It shouldn’t have been so easy to work each other out, knowing exactly what to do to provoke the reaction they both wanted. As they grinded down on each other, their cocks brushed, sending overwhelming pleasure through their entire bodies.

Connor could feel it was going to end too soon, and he didn’t want it to be over. He pulled back and started to inch his way down Oliver’s body, tasting as much skin as he could, trying to remember every part of it.

Oliver bucked up into it, hands firmly placed in Connor’s hair as he went down. He went past his hipbone, nipping at the soft skin of Oliver’s inner thigh before he slipped his hand underneath, spreading his legs out winder until he can get his mouth where he wanted it.

Oliver let out a choked gasp when he realised what was happening, only getting more desperate as Connor flicked his tongue over his entrance.

He’s quivering underneath Connor, each breath shaper than the last as he used all his self-control to stop himself from pushing down onto Connor’s mouth, getting him to go further in. Connor sensed what Oliver wanted, going deeper. He used his hands to spread his cheeks apart until he could push inside with shallow thrusts. He moved his hand forwards, cupping Oliver’s balls, stroking lightly. In response, Oliver squeezed his hair, digging in his fingernails.

Oliver was getting close, so he pulled back, blindly searching for the bottle of lube he threw onto the sheets. Oliver watched him through half-lidded eyes as he poured lube onto three fingers. He eased the first one inside without warning, keeping his hand still until he crawled awkwardly back up Oliver’s body until they were face-to-face again.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Oliver replied, his eyes shutting. “Perfect.”

He worked a second finger in, spreading them out inside as much as he could. Oliver is so fucking tight, it must have been a while since he’d let anyone touch him the way Connor was. The realisation slightly overwhelmed him. He was the person making the man underneath him feel good, and probably for the first time in six months, if not more.

“Relax,” Connor said gently. He needed Oliver to calm down to make it easier, and more comfortable, for the both of them. When he felt him relax, he added a third finger, driving them in a little deeper.

Oliver gasped, his facial expression changing from one of discomfort to pure pleasure. “ _There_.” Connor hit the spot again; making Oliver’s back arch upwards. “Connor, fucking come _on_. Please- just-“

Connor didn’t need any persuasion. Oliver must have grabbed a condom at one point because he’d already unwrapping it, reaching over and rolling it down over Connor’s dick. Connor bit his lip at the sensation of another person’s fingers around his oversensitive cock.

Connor managed to line up with Oliver’s entrance, pushing forwards as slowly as he could. He watched Oliver’s face until he stilled his hips, meeting Oliver’s. Connor leans down, placing butterfly kisses on the man’s collarbone, keeping him relaxed and comfortable to the best of his ability. For a second, he rested his forehead on Oliver’s shoulder, until the other man got the messages and hooked his legs around his back, lifting his hips off the mattress.

He started a steady rhythm, pulling back to keep his gaze on Oliver’s face, making sure he wasn’t causing him any pain. He saw the man’s face relax, all the stress flooding out of his features as it was replaced by a content, lazy smile. Connor kept on kissing him through the thrusts, until Oliver met them.

It wasn’t going to last for much longer, but Connor tried to draw it out until he could hook his arm around Oliver’s leg, pushing it up over his shoulder, driving in at a perfect angle. He reached for one hand, forcing Oliver’s wrists together until he could grab both of them, pinning them into the mattress above his end. Connor watched as Oliver’s eyes rolled back, swollen mouth dropping open.

Honestly, Connor had no idea whether Oliver had a kink for being pinned, but it worked out well as Oliver managed to free one of his hands from Connor’s hold, working it between their sweaty bodies, closing his fist around his dick. The sight made Connor (momentarily) lose his rhythm. It didn’t take much until Oliver made a drawn-out moaning sound, and releases between their bodies, shooting white streams of come over their stomachs.

That was all it took for Connor to lose it. Neon sparks flashed behind his eyes as his orgasm hit, quickly followed by his limbs feeling unusually heavy.

Connor collapsed on top of Oliver, panting heavily. Oliver wrapped his arms around Connor’s body, holding him tightly, not letting him pull out. They stay in that position for an unknown time, sharing sweet post-coital kisses.

It took Connor a while to work up the energy, and will, to pull out of Oliver. He took off the condom, tying it, and throwing it onto the floor – he hoped it reached the trashcan.

They ended up lying beside each other, limbs together. Connor gazed at Oliver, not too sure what he was looking at – he was just looking at _him_ , taking in his beauty or something like that. However, all the sappy romantic thoughts never made it out of his mouth; instead he ended up running his hand through Oliver’s hair. “You have sex hair.”

Oliver grinned. “Hm,” he said, faking a thoughtful tone. “Wonder who did that.”

Connor laughed, rolling onto his side to place a gentle peck on his lips. “Stay here for the night?” he asked, out of the blue – he didn’t remember formulating the question in his brain.

“Of course,” Oliver replied. He turned his head to face Connor, smiling fondly at him.

The early evening sunlight was bathing the room with orange light, softening Oliver’s feature, making them look impossibly smoother. It was so peaceful – so _normal_. In a way, this was what he’d been dreaming of, falling asleep with Oliver cuddling up to him.

Connor could easily get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When will I feel comfortable writing anything of a sexual nature? Also, it's 3AM, so excuse any typos and/or grammar errors; I'll fix them in the morning.
> 
> ~~Added snowballing just because (and it's not in many fics. Why?).~~
> 
>  
> 
> (Sorry its a lot shorter than the others; it's easier to split them up into two parts instead of having an 8,000+ word chapter.)
> 
> P.S. I have a feeling the next chapter may be the last one. It seems to be coming to a natural end right now.


	6. Chapter 6

Connor couldn't recall the last time he had such a peaceful sleep. Usually, he would wake up, still groggy and annoyed at being awake, but not this time. This time, he felt a warm body behind his and strong arms around his middle, keeping him from moving away. Surprisingly, his first thought wasn’t to fight whatever was holding him still, instead he wriggled around until he back was solidly pressed against the other person’s chest.

“Comfortable?” Oliver asked. His voice was still thick with sleep, making Connor feel a little guilty that his squirming had woken the other man up. However, Oliver didn’t seem to complain as he held Connor impossibly tighter, placing a couple of light kisses on the top of his head and back of his neck. The gesture was so caring, Connor felt himself getting strangely tearful – it was too early for this sentimental shit, he said to himself, trying to justify his mixed emotions.

Connor made a content sound when Oliver started to kiss the side of his neck, running his tongue gently down from his earlobe. “Very,” Connor managed to whisper, letting his eyes flutter shut again. He could feel Oliver’s warm breath hitting the places he’d covered in kissing, making him shudder and let out a long sigh.

“Good,” Oliver said, suddenly stopping teasing Connor and pushed himself away from him. Connor whined at the loss of body heat and tried to wrap the blankets around himself in an attempt to keep some warmth in. Once he was sufficiently cocooned in covers, he rolled on his side to face Oliver, giving him a slightly irritated look.

“What are you doing?” Connor questioned, rubbing his eyes to try and get the sleep out of them. He was sure it was still pretty early, a perfect time for the two of them to laze around in bed all day. But it was clear Oliver had other plans as he’d already started to put on a pair of Connor’s baggy sweatpants, much to his displeasure.

“Getting food,” Oliver said after he’d managed to slip on the trousers. He rested his hands on his hips, raising an eyebrow at Connor who was still lying in the bed, gazing up at him from the nest of blankets and duvets he’d managed to construct. Oliver could only see the other man’s head, making him look like a baby which had been wrapped up too tightly in its sheets. Oliver laughed and shook his head, smiling at Connor fondly. “Aren’t you going to get up?”

A few seconds past in silence, only for Connor to shake his head. “Too early,” he complained, burying his head in the pillows, almost smothering himself during the process.

“It’s almost even o’clock,” Oliver laughed, stepping towards the bed and removing the cushions from around Connor’s face. Connor only whined louder, trying to grab the pillows back from Oliver’s grasp. When he couldn’t manage to reclaim them, he shuffled down in the blankets, hiding his face against the morning sunlight once again. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hmm, that’s not what you said last night,” Connor commented from underneath the blankets. Oliver was glad the other man couldn’t see him as he felt his cheeks heat up. He must have taken too long to reply as Connor let out a triumphant laugh. “You’re blushing.” He removed the covers from his head, looking back up at Oliver, a wide smile spreading across his lips.

“Shut up,” Oliver chuckled. He leaned down and kissed Connor, only making the younger of the two grin more. Before he could pull away, Connor had already managed to free his hand from the multitude of covers and wrapped them around Oliver’s neck, keeping him in the awkward position, and deepened the kiss.

Oliver was surprised when Connor broke the kiss, panting a little. Connor settled back down on the bed, looking pleased with himself. He smirked as Oliver when he noticed the other man rubbing the back of his neck, probably to try and remove the uncomfortable knots.

“Can’t keep anything innocent can you?” Oliver asked, keeping his tone light. When Connor shook his head, Oliver rolled his eyes, trying to hide a smile (it didn’t work, Connor saw Oliver’s eyes crinkle at the corners). “Right,” he said, standing up straight. “Breakfast? Do you have anything more than pasta?” Oliver didn’t know why he bothered asking – he knew what the answer was before Connor said he didn’t.

 “We could go out for breakfast. I really want pancakes.”

Oliver gave him a sceptical glance. “Will you get out of bed for them, though?” He cocked an eyebrow at Connor, who was still nestled until all the blankets he owned.

“I _always_ get up for food, Oliver,” Connor said, seriously. “Who do you think I am?”

All Oliver could do was laugh.

***

True to his word, Connor managed to get himself out of bed and showered within the hour. Oliver was impressed at his speed; he didn’t think the other man had it in him.

They were sprawled on the couch in the living room, Connor’s head resting lightly on Oliver’s thigh as he scrolled through various cafes they could go on his phone. Every time he suggested a place, Connor shook his head, saying he had been there before and it wasn’t anything special. It seemed that Connor had some exacting standards around where to get food, it was sweet in a way, but Oliver was getting a little irritated with the numerous rejections to every place he mentioned.

“Fine,” Oliver said after his seventh idea was declined. He looked down at Connor, biting back an annoyed sigh. “You find somewhere since you’re so picky.” Connor took the phone from his hands, typing something into the search bar and smiled when something came up on the screen. His showed it to Oliver wordlessly, keeping it in front of his face long enough for him to read what was written on the site. “That’s an hour drive away,” Oliver groaned, taking his phone off Connor and put it back in his pocket.

Connor rolled onto his back, gazing up at Oliver. A small smile was starting to take over his lips; it was a smile Oliver hadn’t seen before. When he gave Connor a confused look, all he did was laugh lightly. He still didn’t give any expiation to why he wanted to go somewhere so far, but he looked to comfortable to disturb. Not knowing what else to do, Oliver pushed some of the strands of stray hair away from Connor’s face, tucking them neatly behind his ear.

“You have nice hair,” Oliver said, rather dumbly, loosely wrapping some of it around his forefinger. Connor made a happy sound, closing his eyes at the touch.

“I know,” Connor said in a fake dreamy voice, making Oliver snort.

“You ruined the moment!” he laughed, running his fingers through Connor’s hair.

“We had a moment?” Connor asked, feigning ignorance, grinning up at Oliver. Oliver rolled his eyes and stood up, making Connor sit up, albeit against his will.

Oliver brushed the creases out of his t-shirt and offered a hand to Connor, knowing far too well that the other man wouldn’t move without persuasion, even if he was starving to death on the couch. He groaned inwardly when he realised Connor would have to drive because he didn’t feel like going back to his place to pick up his car, nor did he know the directions to the cafe Connor had chosen.

Connor linked their fingers together, allowing Oliver to pull him off the seat. “You’re driving,” Oliver said, making sure he tone left no room for Connor to try and talk his way out of it. However, it only made him smile wider.

“We’re going on a road trip, then," Connor said, his mind already made up.

***

Either Oliver was going insane, or they’d past the same tree for a fourth time. He glanced over at Connor, whose eyes were fixed on the road, with a very concentrated expression on his face as he tried to navigate the car down the winding backstreets. Oliver knew asking if they were lost would only cause Connor to snap – it was clear the man wasn’t in any frame of mind to be questioned about his map-reading skills. So, Oliver put the radio on and leaned back in the passenger seat, watching endless amounts of leaves and bark fly by the window as he hummed along to the random song playing from the speakers.

They turned left, going down another road, but this time it resembled something more of a dirt track. Tall bushes lined the road, making it next to impossible for two cars to pass each other easily, and blocking out some of the midday sun. Connor was still trying to pretend that he knew where he was going, even though Oliver could see that they were truly lost in some semi-rural area that neither of them knew existed until they took a wrong turn half an hour ago.

Connor took his phone from his lap and started to furiously tap the screen, only to throw it to the floor when it didn’t work. “No service,” he muttered, bitterly. He put both hands back on the steering wheel, gripping it to hard his knuckles when white. “Please tell me you have signal,” he begged, looking at Oliver for a split second. When Oliver shook his head, Connor made an irritated groaning sound, but kept on driving, intent on getting somewhere, at least.

They drove in awkward silence for a while until Connor spotted yet another track. It looked narrower than the one they were on, and Oliver highly doubted it would lead anywhere worthwhile. However, without a second thought, Connor turned right, driving down the trail.

“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” Oliver asked, cautiously.

“No. That’s the fun of road trips, right?” Connor said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. Oliver decided not to question him anymore; maybe they’d find some hidden beauty spot that had yet been discovered. Or get murdered by an axe wielding maniac. He wasn’t sure which was most likely yet.  Luckily, it was still light, and the sun didn’t go down until late at night. If worst came to the worst, they wouldn’t be lost in the dark, which was a bonus by any means.

Again, Oliver stared out of the window, not focusing on anything in particular. It all looked the same to him: leafy and green. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so many trees that weren’t in paper form. It was nice to leave the busy streets of the city, he guessed, but the feeling of not knowing exactly where he was made a small amount of anxiety flood is veins. He used the city as a security blanket – the familiarity of the streets and alleyways kept him feeling safe, even when it was pitch black.

Summer sunlight shone down on them, heating up the car. Even when Connor rolled down the windows, it did little to relief them from the soaring temperatures. It suddenly hit Oliver that they didn’t have anything to drink; they’d only gone out to look for breakfast, not to go on an impromptu trip across the country.

Maybe they’d both die of dehydration before they were killed by a stranger.

Without warning, Connor hit the brakes, making Oliver jolt forwards, almost smacking his head on the windscreen.

“What was that for?!” he shouted, trying to get his heartbeat back down to a normal rate. He glared at Connor, getting angrier when he noticed the other man attempting to hide a smirk. “What- _why_?!” Oliver said, trying to get some form of expiation for his near-death experience.

“We’re here,” Connor said, sounding proud of himself, the initial stress of getting lost leaving him instantly. He undid his seatbelt and opened the door, letting a stream of cool air into the car. Oliver, who was still shaken from being thrown forwards, stayed sitting, looking around the place Connor had found. It wasn’t their intended destination, but it was fucking pretty. There was a forest covered mountainside with a stream running down it, snaking its way around large rocks and trees, and the areas that weren’t dominated by woodland left small patches of grassland, blanketed in an array of different coloured flowers and plants that Oliver couldn’t name for the life of him.

And he was sure he could hear birds chirping away in the distance.

The whole setting was very Disney-like, but he enjoyed it.

“How did you know about this place?” he asked Connor as he got out of the car, walking around the front to stand beside him.

Connor shrugged, awkwardly smiling. “Didn’t,” he said, simply. “But it’s nice, right?” he asked, searching for some kind of positive response from Oliver. He secretly hoped him getting worked up about getting lost didn’t scare him off – he was just awful at directions, and his GPS system clearly needed upgrading.

Oliver chuckled, nodding. “It’s beautiful,” he said, pressing a quick kiss onto Connor’s cheek. “We should go and sit down there,” he suggested, pointing down the slope to the grassy embankment. The sun was now shining through the trees’ branches, speckling the ground with patches of shade and warm light. It was horribly romantic; Oliver silently prayed that Connor wouldn’t pick up on that.

Unfortunately, he did. Oliver saw the smirk that Connor just about managed to hide. He took hold of Oliver’s hand and started to pull him down the hill. They managed a couple of steps in sync before Connor lost his footing on the slippery grass and fell down onto the ground with an _oomph_. As hard as Oliver tried to stay standing, the sudden pull on his arm made him topple on top of Connor – luckily, he was just about able to catch himself by putting his arms out either side of Connor’s neck, unintentionally pinning him on the floor.

“Hello,” Connor said, trying to keep his voice from cracking and bit his lip to stop grinning up at Oliver.

“Hey – sorry,” he managed to mutter as he tried to slow down his breathing. He kept himself supported, still hovering over Connor and gave him a weak smile. “I’ll move now.”

“Don’t,” Connor said, a strangely mischievous smirk forming on his lips. Before Oliver could question it, he felt his right arm being knocked away from the ground, causing him to lose his balance. He let out a surprised gasp as Connor wrapped his legs around his and his arms securely around Oliver’s back.

“What are you-“ However, he didn’t have enough time to finish his question before his vision started to spin. It took him a few seconds to work out that they were rolling down the hill, and that Connor had nestled his head in Oliver’s chest to protect himself from the bumps in the ground. Between the sound of the wind making the leaves rustle, Oliver could just about hear Connor’s high pitched giggles.

Oliver was sure there were going to be grass stains on his shirt that were never going to come out – a white t-shirt was clearly a bad idea for the spontaneous hill rolling, but he couldn’t get himself to care when he felt Connor’s body shake against his once they’d come to a stop. Still, they had made their way to the place where Oliver first suggested, even if the way they got down there wasn’t too conventional, and that was all that mattered.

“That was fun,” Connor said cheerfully, edging away from Connor to brush some of the dry mud from his trousers.

“Fun?” Oliver repeated, not sure if they had the same definitions of the word – or that Connor’s experience was a lot more joyful than his way. He got a mud-covered shirt, whereas, Connor managed to get the easy ride down, one that involved using Oliver’s chest as a shield.

“Yes,” he insisted, poking Oliver’s upper arm. “Loosen up, it’s a nice day!” Connor laughed and lay down amongst the grass, gazing up at the clear blue sky. It wasn’t long until Oliver followed suit and lay down next to him, linking their fingers together lightly. Connor felt a warm feeling flow through his body: content, happiness – maybe something deeper?

The thought of him falling in love (or whatever the fuck it was) should have scared him, it should have made him get up and run as far away as possible, but it didn’t. Instead, he squeezed Oliver’s hand tighter, lazily smiling and basked in the summer sun.

Oliver noticed the corners over Connor’s eyes crinkle. He used his free hand to defend his eyes from the light to look at Connor. He seemed so relaxed stretched out on the grass, sunlight highlighting his face, making his skin look a golden colour. He looked like nothing could hurt him at that moment; nothing could take them from their secret tranquil spot.

Oliver decided against asking what had made the other man randomly smile, and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of birds chirping in the forest. He had never been someone who would opt to go for a long stroll in the countryside, or even consider camping, but he could see the appeal of getting away from the noisy cities and towns for a while, maybe that was why getaway retreats were becoming increasingly popular among city dwellers. Oliver strongly doubted that Connor would consent to spending a night or two under the stars, but he’d work towards it.

They stayed in comfortable silence for a while, both appreciating each other’s company without the need to make constant conversation about meaningless things. It was nice, Oliver thought to himself as he listened to the swell of the river. He enjoyed the easy air which surrounded them – an atmosphere that usually took years to create. Everything felt so natural when he was with Connor, despite the fact they’d only known one another for a scarily short time.

“I’m still hungry,” Connor said, breaking the peace between them. Oliver chuckled, shaking his head. “What? It’s not my fault we missed breakfast.” He tried to sound offended by the older man’s laughing, but Oliver could hear that he was attempting to bite back a giggle as he spoke.

“I wasn’t the one who got us lost,” Oliver reminded him, laughing louder as Connor pulled some of the grass from the ground and threw it at him. Oliver fought back, lazily throwing the same clump of grass back.

“You’re getting me muddy!” Connor whined, wiping off the dirt from his jeans, playfully glaring at Oliver.

Oliver scoffed. “You didn’t seem so fussed about it when you _pushed me down a hill_ ,” he said, emphasising the last part of his sentence. Connor didn’t seem to care; all he did was grin at him. Oliver chose not to retaliate, knowing that Connor would only want a reaction. He managed to roll his eyes discreetly, standing up as he did so. He offered a hand down to Connor, pulling him up from the ground.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling brightly. He kept hold of Oliver’s hand, intertwining their fingers together. “We should get pancakes now,” he announced, dragging Oliver in the direction of the car they’d abandoned on the roadside.

“Promise me you won’t drive off down some random back road this time?” Oliver teased while Connor fiddled with the keys, unlocking the car.

Connor flipped him off, only making Oliver smirk at the reaction. “You’re an asshole,” he muttered, although there was no hurt in his voice.

He managed to open the door after a couple of seconds, and sat down in the driver’s seat. Impatiently, Connor tapped the steering wheel with his fingertips, waiting for Oliver to sit beside him. It didn’t take too long under a cool gust of air filled the car, quickly followed by Oliver slumping down on the seat next to him.

Oliver tilted his head and batted his eyes lids in a fake, sickly-sweet way. “Lying is a sin,” he said, trying to keep his voice sounding serious.

“And do you know what else is a sin?” Connor asked, putting the key into the ignition and starting the car. He started to drive down the road slowly, making sure he was going the way they came – he didn’t want to give Oliver the pleasure of being right about his non-existent sense of direction. “Us not eating our body weight in greasy breakfast foods.”

Oliver grinned at him.

***

For some unknown reason, Oliver was sure Connor that was exaggerating when he mentioned they’d try and eat their weight in food which would only lead them to an early grave. However, he was proven wrong when he younger of the two returned to the table with two large plates of pancakes covered in every topping known to man.

“You didn’t say what you wanted on them,” Connor explained as he set the dishes down. They were sat at the furthest table, right at the back of the room. The cafe wasn’t full, but neither of them felt like sitting near the front surrounding by endless amount of screaming children and parents trying to calm them down, only to agitate them more.

Oliver picked up one of the pancakes with his fork, knocking the pile of extras off onto the porcelain. “Syrup would have been good enough, not everything in the entire building,” he joked, cutting into the mound of food in front of him.

He seriously doubted he could eat a quarter of them.

“Your problem is that you don’t _live_ ,” Connor said, shoving half a pancake into his mouth, making a blissful sound as he chewed. “You _need_ to have at least three different things on them to make them interesting – and they don’t have to usually go together. That’s the magic of them.” He looked down at the mess of strawberries, bacon and butter on his plate, feeling proud that he had made up an unusual combination that actually worked well together.

“You are weird,” Oliver said through a mouthful of food, pointing at Connor with the end of his fork.  Okay, he had to admit the weird mixture of flavours did work; maybe Connor was onto something with it.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me,” Connor deadpanned.  “All these insults and I _still_ like you? I am a god among people.”

Oliver felt this throat close and his stomach twist into knots. It took all his willpower not to choke on the bit of pancake in his mouth as he looked up at Connor with wide eyes. “As in like-like me?” In hindsight, it wasn’t the smartest thing Oliver had ever said, but the confession had taken him by surprise. He coughed a little, attempting to regain some of his poise.

Connor managed to keep a straight face for about three seconds (which was two and a half seconds longer than he anticipated) before busting into a fit of laughter. “Do I have to make one of those ‘do you like me? Yes or No’ notes and pass it to you in class under the table?” He put the fork on the table, using his free hand to remove the tears which had started to form in his eyes. Oliver blushed deeply, trying to hide his embarrassment by smiling – even he knew it looked more than forced. “Of course I ‘like-like’ you,” he said, using his fingers to do quotation mark gestures.

Speechless and kind of shell-shocked, Oliver could only manage a pathetic nod. “That’s, uh... nice.” He gave Connor a weak smile, hoping that his inability the form a sentence didn’t put Connor off – the last thing he wanted to do was make the other man think he was interested, or felt the same way. If Connor was anyone else, he was certain he would have been able to say what he was thinking – he’d had some practise with people said they wanted to be something more than friends.

But Connor was different. Connor was outgoing, funny, charismatic – everything Oliver wasn’t (or what he believed, anyway). They wouldn’t work together; Connor would find someone new and more exciting within a month, leaving him without a second thought. Oliver couldn’t let himself go through the heartbreak – he wouldn’t allow himself. He wouldn’t-

“Nice?” Connor repeated, stopping Oliver’s internal monologue mid-rant. Although Connor didn’t sound too hurt at what Oliver had said – anyone could see the pain flickering behind his eyes, the rejection hastily taking its place. Connor cast his gaze down and started to pick at the cooling food in front of him, avoiding eye contact.

Oliver cursed himself, hating how he’d ruined everything in a matter of seconds. “No – no, wrong word. I didn’t mean- what I meant was-,” he said too fast, stumbling over some of his words. He took a couple of calming breaths, getting his ability to speak back. “I was just taken by surprise,” he explained. “I mean I’m just me, and well, you’re _you_.” He gestured between each other, trying to get his point across.

“It doesn’t take a genius to work that one out,” Connor muttered, still not looking up from the tabletop.

Oliver was sure Connor would start burning holes into the plastic covering if he kept on staring at it for much longer.

He shuffled a centimetre or two close to the other man, stopping when their thighs touched. He hooked one of his fingers lightly under Connor’s chin, forcing him to look Oliver in the eye instead of the table. “Listen, I don’t want to turn this into a self-deprecating speech, but I’d never have guessed in a thousand years that you’d ever like me more than someone who could get you stuff from the library for your work, that’s why I sounded like an idiot.” He saw the edges of Connor’s lips twitch and the small amount of sadness in his eyes disappear. “And as much as I’d love to carry on this conversation here, I think that kid over there has been watching us for the last couple of minutes.” Connor glanced over towards the busy part of the cafe, and caught the eye on a young girl staring at them, a confused look on her face.

“Yeah,” Connor said, backing away from Oliver. He shook his head, getting rid of the thoughts that had managed to plague his mind within seconds. He tried his best to give Oliver his most confident smile, and nodded towards the exit. “Back to mine then,” he said, not bothering to ask.

“What about-“

“We weren’t going to finish them. No one ever does.”

***

For the first hour at Connor’s apartment, the atmosphere had been a little uneasy. Neither of them knew what to say, or whether they should bring up the conversation from before. Oliver had excused himself, saying that he needed to change out of his grass-stained clothes, and went into Connor’s room for far longer than necessary. During that time, Connor made himself comfortable on the couch and flicked through streams of dull programmes.

He was halfway through a movie from the 1980s when he heard the door to his bedroom opening. He rolled on his side, making it easier for him to see the entrance to the living room, and smiled to himself when he saw Oliver was dressed in the clothes he’d borrowed last time. Without a second thought, Connor turned off the television and moved up the seat, making space for Oliver.

“You look comfortable,” Connor commented as Oliver sat next to him. He leaned forwards and bunched up some of the t-shirt fabric in his hands, allowing it to crumple into a tight ball before letting it go.

“It’s a comfy shirt,” Oliver said. They fell into another silence, one which was slightly too uncomfortable for Connor to bear. He scooted forwards and rested his head on Oliver’s shoulder lightly, waiting for any negative reaction from the other man. Luckily, he didn’t receive one, and Oliver idly combed his fingers through the longer strands of Connor’s hair like normal.

Connor took it upon himself to bring back the conversation from before. He was known to be stubborn, and didn’t quit until he had a firm answer – regardless of what it was. “So,” he said in a low voice, dragging out the word to buy him more time. “If you haven’t gathered, I ‘like-like’ you, because you’re clearly still in middle school and use that phrase.” Oliver looked down at Connor and saw that he had one eyebrow perfectly raised, almost in a mocking way. “And I have for a while,” he shrugged; trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

“What does that make us, then?” Oliver asked, probably sounding a little too desperate for his own good.

“Are we seriously having _this_ conversation?” Connor asked with a groan, burying his face in the crook of Oliver’s neck.

“You’re the one who brought it up,” he pointed out, snaking his hand down towards Connor’s. Instinctively, Connor held onto his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Go on.”

“Stop peer pressuring me,” Connor whined, not wanting to talk anymore. He’d never been in a relationship, and random guys he hooked up with never asked these kinds of questions – in fact, they hardly spoke to him. What was he meant to say? Was he meant to make it dramatic? Have a speech prepared? How did people in films do it?

He didn’t know why it was so hard. They’d already done most things people did when they dated – Connor even broke his non-existent no sex until the third date rule for him. And they had been on dates, or what he classed as them – illegal sneaking in formal documents and getting lost counted to him. However, instead of spitting out the words, he opted to lie across Oliver’s lap, comfortable resting his head on the other man’s thigh.

Connor felt his heart rate pick up at the idea of asking Oliver out. He started to believe that he was overacting; he wasn’t asking the other man to spend the rest of his life with him (despite how nice that sounded) or leave his loved ones so they could runaway to a remote African island.

He wished he had practised when he was a teenager, the experience would have been useful at that moment.

He let out a long breath, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He angled himself so he was facing Oliver, his legs crossed on the seat. Connor smiled sheepishly at him, getting him a moment or two to collect his thoughts.

Connor guessed that the to-the-point approach would be the best (or that’s what he hoped, at least).

“Do you want to go out with me? Like, you know, an exclusive thing...?” Connor cringed when he heard his own voice, hating how immature and horribly nervous he sounded.

“Okay,” Oliver replied, after he pretended to think about it, biting his lip to stop himself grinning too hard.

Connor sat in stunned silence. All he got was an ‘okay’? After all of that? He felt a little disappointed at Oliver – _his_ _boyfriend_ – reaction, but it was miles better than a ‘no’ by any means.

“Great?” Connor said, furrowing his eyebrows together, not sure what else he could say in that situation.

“You were so nervous; did you honestly think I’d say no?” When Connor didn’t reply, Oliver leaned forwards and kissed him solidly on the lips. He wrapped his arms around Connor’s neck, keeping him in place. Connor kissed back, working their lips together. He allowed his eyes to close, letting the familiarity of Oliver’s touch and overall presence wash over him.

Connor was the first one to pull away, the dizzy sensation from the lack of oxygen getting too much for him. He sat back, panting heavily, looking at his boyfriend with a wide smile spreading across his face. It was so foreign to him to see a person and know they were his – to know they weren’t going to run off and sleep with the next person they saw. However weird the feeling was, he’d started to grow fond of it already.

“What’s next?” he asked, brushing some of the stray bits of hair out of his face. “We change our relationship status on Facebook?” he joked, smiling happily – finally content.

Oliver let out a loud laugh, ducking his head so he could lean against Connor’s shoulder. “I don’t know about you,” he said, talking into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. “But I’m still starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end! I really enjoyed writing this over the last month or so, and I hope you liked it too :)
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> Comments/overall feedback are always appreciated <3


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